


The Gaels of Fianna - a tale of the Seeding

by FiveFarthings



Series: The Seeding [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Celtic culture, Copyright, F/M, Gaelic culture, Heroic culture, Science Fiction & Fantasy, culture clash, soft scifi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 106,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22777036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FiveFarthings/pseuds/FiveFarthings
Summary: The Seeding was a phase of colonial expansion of Earth. Earth had achieved worldwide peace and, confident and rich, sent out scouts and survey ships to find new worlds. They found them, and for a hundred years settlers poured out of Earth, flooding to settle the stars. Then came the nemesis. Populism fuelled as always by ignorance and prejudice took over and Earth descended into war again. The colony program collapsed, the supply ships stopped, and the colonies were left to fend for themselves. The umbilical cord severed, within one generation the colonists had to depend their new world's resources. How they fared depended on themselves and the benignity of their new home. Some, following the example of the mother world, squabbled and fought. Their settlements shrank to below sustainability size and they died out. Others were wiped out by a natural catastrophe. All lost some technology, some lost all, became hunter-gatherers, others nomads. All who survived adapted physiologically and psychologically to their world. When Earth achieved peace and sense again, they had not the will, the resources or the skills to resume the program again. Forty generations, a thousand years past before these three stars were in conjunction again. Then a powerful emotional upsurge arose, to contact 'our brothers in the stars'. Quickly this developed in the Terran Project, where settlements on a colonist planet would be assessed and, if at a suitable level of technological and social development, a team of specialists in medicine, engineering, science, communications would be sent out. The purpose was to seed development, on the basis that once the benefits of clean drinking water, water-borne sewerage, effective health care, higher crop yields and so on were seen in one part, others would follow. So the skills required by team members were not just technical, but managerial, diplomatic and leadership. But the most important attributes were innate: insight, empathy, probity, and the strength of character to apply these. These were vital, not just for doing the job effectively, but for establishing trust. The project leader and senior members had to persuade the rulers of a society to embark on changes which they could see little need for, the current, established systems having performed adequately, to their minds, for generations. Without trust in those promising the benefits, the rulers would never give permission for the changes to take place. Earth recognised this, appointing only experienced and proven personnel to senior positions and leaving them to get with the job once appointed. After five years the team would be picked up, and moved on to another planet.The city-state of Findias on the planet Fianna, ruled and largely peopled by clan Tectones was one such settlement. They had been lucky. Lucky that their group had a succession of leaders foresighted enough to prevent descent into total anarchy and annihilation. Lucky that their current leader had those attributes also. But still they were at little more than iron age cultural level, and public health, medicine, agriculture were all at an equivalent level.
Series: The Seeding [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1637482
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Seeding was a phase of colonial expansion of Earth. Earth had achieved worldwide peace and, confident and rich, sent out scouts and survey ships to find new worlds. They found them, and for a hundred years settlers poured out of Earth, flooding to settle the stars. Then came the nemesis. Populism fuelled as always by ignorance and prejudice took over and Earth descended into war again. The colony program collapsed, the supply ships stopped, and the colonies were left to fend for themselves. The umbilical cord severed, within one generation the colonists had to depend their new world's resources. How they fared depended on themselves and the benignity of their new home. Some, following the example of the mother world, squabbled and fought. Their settlements shrank to below sustainability size and they died out. Others were wiped out by a natural catastrophe. All lost some technology, some lost all, became hunter-gatherers, others nomads. All who survived adapted physiologically and psychologically to their world. When Earth achieved peace and sense again, they had not the will, the resources or the skills to resume the program again. Forty generations, a thousand years past before these three stars were in conjunction again. Then a powerful emotional upsurge arose, to contact 'our brothers in the stars'. Quickly this developed in the Terran Project, where settlements on a colonist planet would be assessed and, if at a suitable level of technological and social development, a team of specialists in medicine, engineering, science, communications would be sent out. The purpose was to seed development, on the basis that once the benefits of clean drinking water, water-borne sewerage, effective health care, higher crop yields and so on were seen in one part, others would follow. So the skills required by team members were not just technical, but managerial, diplomatic and leadership. But the most important attributes were innate: insight, empathy, probity, and the strength of character to apply these. These were vital, not just for doing the job effectively, but for establishing trust. The project leader and senior members had to persuade the rulers of a society to embark on changes which they could see little need for, the current, established systems having performed adequately, to their minds, for generations. Without trust in those promising the benefits, the rulers would never give permission for the changes to take place. Earth recognised this, appointing only experienced and proven personnel to senior positions and leaving them to get with the job once appointed. After five years the team would be picked up, and moved on to another planet.
> 
> The city-state of Findias on the planet Fianna, ruled and largely peopled by clan Tectones was one such settlement. They had been lucky. Lucky that their group had a succession of leaders foresighted enough to prevent descent into total anarchy and annihilation. Lucky that their current leader had those attributes also. But still they were at little more than iron age cultural level, and public health, medicine, agriculture were all at an equivalent level.

**People**

Agnes: Terran, head of the Terran Project on Fianna

Anne and Lea: Elizabeth’s daughters (for Lea, see _Tundra Girl_ )

Angus: Terran, director of Engineering

Astlin, tracker: A Fiann warrior

Barre: Earl’s retainer, huntsman

Bave: Earl’s retainer, huntsman in charge of weapons

Brian: Terran, a trainee

Charles: Terran, director of Communications

Ceofrin: Earl of Findias, head of the House of Lugh, ruler of the Findias city-state

Chiomara of Aedua: A Fiann noblewoman, wife of Ortiagon, mother of two children

Chonchobar: Ortiagon’s young brother

Crimthann of Tolosa: Powerful baron, husband of Fedhelm, Redraic and Tana’s father

Duwald, swordmaster: A Fiann warrior

Elizabeth: Terran, director of Medicine

Eimher: Chiomara’s young sister

Fedhelm of Tolosa: The earl’s sister, mother of Osric, Redraic and Tana 

Heather: Angus’s divorced wife, married to Charles

Jeannie : Angus and Heather’s daughter

Keldric: Earl’s son, captain in the city guard

Maine: Earl’s retainer, hunt steward

Mende: Earl’s retainer, a master tracker

Mary: Terran midwife

Neima: Fiann medical nurse

Osric of Tolosa: Redraic’s elder brother, captain in the city guard

Ortiagon of Aedua: A baron, husband of Chiomara

Ruadan: Headman of Aedua, in service to Chiomara

Turig of Rutena: A baron, cousin of Chiomara

**Glossary**

Adir: The ruling city of Aria, a trading partner with Findias (see _Tundra Girl_ )

Aedua: A small holding in the Aquitani valley. Aedua House is the family residence in Findias

Algonim: A mountain range on the far side of the Telemon Plain

Anumcara: Soul friend: one who aids the passage of a dying person to the next world

Aquitani: A fertile valley at the foot of the Algonim range

Aria: A country about a week’s sea voyage away (see _Tundra Girl_ )

Baian: A nomadic tribe, fanatical and savage

Baintighearna: Lady or gentlewoman

Ban~: Feminising prefix: eg banmiddach: woman doctor

Beardog: A pack hunter, larger than a wolf

Belenos: Celtic sun god

Belthane: Celtic Spring festival

Bodachim: Spirits of the dead

Beinn nam Bodach: ‘The Haunted Hills’ lit ‘Uplands of the Spirit’

Briseadh-latha aig: ‘At daybreak’

Callieach: Witch

Droch shuil: Evil eye: Effects of ~ called cronachadh, cure for ~ called beannachadh (blessing)

Draoi, bandraoi: Druid. Druidism is the prevailing religion of Findias and the surrounding lands.

Fháith, banfháith: Seer or prophet

Fhilíd, banfhilíd: An outstanding artist: a poet, painter, writer, who could move others with their art

Fianna: A planet colonized by Earth a thousand years earlier, Oligocene epoch flora and fauna.

Fiann: The inhabitants of Fianna

Findias: A powerful city-state with an early iron-age society. The term can refer to the city alone or the city-state, i.e. the city and the surrounding lands under the control of the ruler. The city is built on a rocky spur of the Treveri Hills

Findias Quay: A small settlement/river port outside the city walls, navigable from the sea by shallow draught ships

Fuill Rock: A house size boulder in a high valley on the route to Gorias. It is sacred to the druids.

Galibas: Inhabitants of a city in the delta of the River Telemon

Geilt: Warriors who have given up war and become hermits. They are sages, philosophers and poets, and capable of performing feats of great physical prowess.

Goba: Ironmaster: Iron working is an esoteric art with high status in Fiann societies

Gorias: The neighbouring city-state to Findias

Holding: A land estate held by a baron at the earl’s pleasure

Kelb: A semi-nomadic Fiann tribe, related to the Baian but not as fanatical

Morrigan, the: Celtic goddess of war and death

Nemed: A person of intellectual skills, a thinker and planner

Nighean Fuill: A red boulder the size of a wagon, lit ‘Daughter of Fuill’

Nimravid: Oligocene mountain lion, slightly larger than the African lion

Northmen: A seafaring race of traders and raiders

Plains boar: Dinohyus, a member of the entelodont family, 2 metres high at the shoulder.

Rutena: A small holding in the foothills of the Algonim mountains

Samhain: Celtic Autumn festival

Scavenge-wolf: Oligocene hyaenodon, twice the size of a present day hyaena

Séanaimid: 'We refuse’

Staca Choire: A steep sided hollow (a corrie) high on Staca Mor

Staca Mor: A ridge mountain overlooking Findias, the edge of the eastern mountains

Staca Wall: A cliff ten miles long, fifteen hundred feet high overlooking Findias and the floodplain

Telemon: A high plain 30 miles wide lying between the Algonim mountains and the Treveri Hills

Telemon River: A river which runs across the Telemon Plain, down past Findias in a gorge, then across a fertile floodplain to the sea

Tighearna: Lord

Tirna N’Og: The Isle of the Blessed (Findian Heaven)

Tolosa: Holding of Crimthann. Tolosa House is the family residence in Findias

Treveri : A range of hills along the southern edge of the Telemon Plain

Treveri Lodge: A fortified hunting lodge in the Treveri Hills about five miles from Findias, occupied by Angus

Uabhal Mor: A mountain on one side of Fuill Glen, the route to Gorias

Uffern: A place of intense cold (Findian Hell)

**Chapter 1** **Day 1 Midsummer, three months into the Terran Project on Fianna: Deputation to Gorias**

Fianna’s sun had already set behind the ridge of Uabhal Mor, but on the trail in Fuill Glen it would be light for hours yet. Light but not warm, for even in summer the sun’s heat left these deep, high valleys early. Jeannie, well wrapped, lulled by the horse’s rhythmic gait and supported by her pillion box saddle, had fallen asleep leaning against Angus’s back. He loved the feel of her there. He saw so little of his child now, so had treasured her company and inconsequential chatter on the day’s ride from Findias. In a few hours, he’d be turning her over to her mother.

What a mess he’d made. Professionally he had done well, but at a high cost: a failed marriage, the loss of his child, and the anger and bitterness of a good woman. Deputy Project leader on Fianna and director of Engineering, but with his wife now married to another man – and what a man. Teflon Charles, they’d called him back on Earth. He was a civil service careerist, with a consummate eye to the wind. Most of the vices of the upper echelons of society on Earth, with few of the virtues. He hadn’t even the guts to accompany his own wife and six year old stepdaughter as part of the Terran deputation to the neighbouring state of Gorias. Terran as well as Findian lips had curled at that. Heather made a poor choice there, no mistake, both for herself and Jeannie. But she’d been on the rebound, hurt and vulnerable, so it was Angus’s fault too.

Still, he’d flogged himself over this many times and to no avail. Heather denied anything was wrong, and he knew interference would make matters worse. Better to enjoy the ride through the magnificent scenery of Fianna. Tired after midnight sessions preparing for the Gorias visit, Angus was half drowsing in the saddle when swordmaster Duwald leant across and touched his arm.

“Trouble, master.” He pointed to a horse galloping down the glen towards them. One of captain Keldric’s forward scouts reporting.

On reaching the head of the column, the scout reined his horse around to ride next to his captain, and called out, "Vultures, lord." He raised an arm tattooed with blue swirling patterns and pointed.

Keldric stared at the sky. "I see four. How many are there?"

"Five, lord. One hovering, two descending, two approaching. No," he shaded his eyes with his hand. "Five approaching now. Whatever is dead is big or many, lord, and they spiral down to the Rock of Fuill."

“Do they, by the Morrigan! Let us disturb them.” He flung back his plaid, twisted round and called, “Leac, bring Marag.”

The falconer rode forward and passed the gyrfalcon to Keldric. The young Fiann loosened and lifted the hood off the huge raptor, then thrust his forearm upwards, shouting, “Lorg!”

Angus could feel the downdraft of the great tawny wings as the bird took off. He watched as it powered its way into the sky, a dramatic symbol of life on Fianna: savage and magnificent.

But Keldric’s action was impetuous. The sudden appearance of a great-falcon would surely warn enemy as well as friend of the coming of a Findian noble. Impetuous but typical of a high-born Fiann: swift action and let come what may. Equally typical was the disdain he showed towards Angus. The young captain had been polite, as befitted the earl’s son, but had scarcely spoken to him on the day’s ride from Findias.

Forty generations on a planet with a gravitational force a tenth again as strong as that of Earth had produced a people next to whom the Terrans looked puny. Add the difference between the heroic Iron Age Fiann culture and the cautious high-tech Earth culture and you had a fertile breeding ground for misunderstandings. The Terrans were treated with disdain by the nobility, suspicion and wariness by the middle classes, and fear and distrust by the common people. The men were considered soft and effeminate, the women – well, in a patriarchal society women had low status anyway. He personally was given some respect, not as a civil engineer but for his hand-trade, ironwork. Metalworking was considered an arcane art, and Fiann ironwork was still developing.

Well, respect would come, as it had come on Psezpolnica, Fabia and Valhalla. Respect would come when the city no longer stank of sewage, when drinking water was clean, when mortality rates dropped and life expectancy increased, when farm productivity doubled. Medicine, public health, agriculture and animal husbandry all played a vital part.

It was already. The barons of the earl’s council had been displeased that the Terran Project was headed by a ‘mere’ woman, but within two months the earl had invited her to join the council. As on other worlds, Agnes’s dynamic personality, leadership skills and calm competence had won them over. And now, only three months in, they were on their way to make a presentation to the Duke of Gorias, a neighbouring city-state.

But first they had to get there. The implications of carrion birds spiralling down ahead of them were not good, surely?

Angus stared at the sky, but could see nothing except some black dots that could have been his imagination. He turned to the grizzled veteran acting as his and Jeannie’s bodyguard during the journey. "Can you see them, swordmaster Duwald?"

"Aye, master. Only three, but my eyes are not what they were."

The captain twisted in his saddle. "Ironmaster, ride up if you would."

Angus touched his heels to the horse's flank, gently so as not to waken Jeannie, and cantered up alongside the Fiann nobleman. Keldric was a big man even amongst the Fiann, and a good head taller than Angus. Mounted on a greathorse, he towered over the Terran.

"Ironmaster, something is up ahead. It may be danger. By my father's instructions, I am sworn to protect you and yours. If you wish it, I shall send men to escort you back to Findias."

"Does not Earl Ceofrin’s nephew await us at the Rock of Fuill?”

“That was the place appointed, ironmaster, but that is also where the scavengers circle. For myself, I believe Osric has slaughtered an aurochs to welcome us, and the scavengers squabble over the entrails. We are only a day’s ride from Findias, and no bandits would dare trouble a Findian patrol here.”

“But is not the Rock of Fuill a holy place to the Baian?”

The young man gave a scornful laugh. “You Terrans are terrified of the Baian. Don’t worry, ironmaster, those fanatics come only at Beltane, and only when my father allows it. They would not dare to come now. But if you wish it, you may take half my men and return to Findias.”

“And that will leave you with eight men. Not many should whatever is at the Rock of Fuill turn out to be trouble. No, we shall come with you. My daughter’s mother awaits us there.”

Keldric frowned. “I thought the child was director Charles’s daughter. Lady Heather is his wife, is she not?”

Divorce was almost unheard of here, and shameful to the Findians. “Yes, she is. But before she was his wife, she was my wife. And Jeannie is my daughter.”

The young man raised an eyebrow, then nodded. “I see. I wondered why a man, even a Terran, was acting as nursemaid to the girl-child of another man. But if she is bone of your bone, blood of your blood …”

‘Even a Terran.’ A Fiann man would be ashamed of doing a woman’s work.

Keldric went on. "It is passing strange to me that Terran ladies of breeding should wish to spend days out here, sleeping rough, looking at rocks."

Angus looked back at him. "Why does it surprise you? We Terrans are here to serve Fianna and if it means sleeping rough, we do it, men and women, breeding or not. Dr Agnes and Dr Heather are land resources engineers, and seek mineral deposits that can be used to benefit Fianna."

"So I have heard. Do they seek gold, silver, diamonds?"

Angus shook his head. "They may note them in passing, but they are looking more particularly for haematite, a red rock. That is a mineral which will benefit your people far more than gold, for it can be used to purify water."

“Humph. Our water is pure enough. The Rock of Fuill is red, all over, not just the part the Baian use for blood sacrifice.”

"So we have heard. That is why the women came a day before us, to take samples to analyse.”

Keldric frowned. "Do you mean, to chip off pieces? They cannot chip pieces off the Rock of Fuill. It is sacred. To touch that with a hammer would have the Druids in an uproar."

"We know that. But if the Rock of Fuill is haematite, there will be other outcrops of haematite around. The Rock of Fuill cannot exist in isolation."

"I think it does, ironmaster. The nearest other red rocks are beyond Gorias, three days ride to the east. Other than Nighean Fuill, Daughter of Fuill, which you see yonder." He pointed ahead at a boulder the size of a wagon around which the trail skirted. Angus looked at the mountainside. The dense conifer forest on the lower slopes gave way to a few clinging patches of trees, then failed altogether as the bare grey rock became steeper.

Keldric shook his head. "Nay, ironmaster, it did not roll down Uabhal Mor."

"And yet it must come from somewhere."

Keldric shrugged, turned in his saddle and called, "Astlin."

As a grey-haired man joined them, Keldric said, “Astlin is a master tracker. No man has explored these hills fully, but he has penetrated further than most. Astlin, are there any red rocks on Uabhal Mor, or anywhere else in these hills?"

"Only one, lord, on Staca Choire, beyond Uabhal Mor. It is small, much smaller than Nighean Fuill.”

“Staca Choire! How came you up there? Not through Beinn nam Bodach?”

“Nay, lord. No man enters the haunted hills and returns to speak of it. Two of us went from here, from this very place, up there, to check for Baian bandits on my captain’s orders.” He pointed to a cleft running diagonally up the side of the mountain. "It is not easy, but one can climb that to reach the ridge of Uabhal Mor. We crossed the hollow of Staca Choire, where the red boulder lies, and climbed to the ridge of Staca Mor. From there we could see Findias, even make out the watch towers.”

“You were that close?” said Angus.

“Close only to the falcon, master. For Barag it is only five miles or so. For those without wings, the Wall of Staca and Beinn nam Bodach lie between, both impassable. Northwards are cliffs, high and precipitous, so we turned south and returned to Findias by way of Staca Cadha and the Gorias Trail.”

“That sounds a long way round.”

“The only way round, ironmaster,” said Keldric. “The way to Gorias is like following two spokes of a cart. You go to the hub, then out again. Going across would be much shorter but the mountain is in the way, not to speak of the evil spirits. On the Findias side are the haunted hills and the Staca Wall, on this the Uabhal Mor,” and he gestured at the mountain.

Recalling the map, Angus thought, yes; a vee-shaped route like a hairpin bend on an alpine pass. “Uabhal Mor looks passable only by a mountain goat. How long would such a journey take?"

Astlin looked at him. "For a Terran, such a journey would not be possible.” The man’s face was expressionless, but his disdain was clear. “For a Fiann huntsman, a half-day to the ridge of Staca Mor, then another day down through the forest to the Telemon floodplain. The woods are very dense.”

"But you saw only the one red rock, and no sign of bandits," said Keldric.

“Aye, lord, just the one rock and no sign of men or habitation. The land up there is empty for it is barren and the weather bitter. The wind howls through the rocks constantly. Snow lies in the corries even in mid-summer. In winter it would be like Uffern. A place for the bodachim, not for living men.”

“Thank you, master tracker.”

The man bowed his head, then reined in his horse to return to his place.

“Well, ironmaster,” said Keldric. “We shall know what the ladies have found soon enough, be it in gold, diamonds, or red rocks."

"Lord." The falconer was pointing. "Marag is rising again." They were closer now, and Angus could see the black dots clearly. "She is alarmed, lord. Something is still happening there, more than vultures feeding."

"Forward then, at the trot. Regon, go ahead to the Flat of Fuill and tell us what you see. Oireg, call in Dural, Socan and Gloig."

A shrill falcon’s call echoed off the cliffs and soon movement on the wooded hillsides told of the returning scouts.

“Anything?” called Keldric as they rode in. Two shook their heads, but one said, “Couldn’t be sure, lord, but I thought I saw movement on the South Dug of Fearann as I came off the ridge. Not animal movement.”

Keldric frowned and heeled his horse into a canter.

The tightening of a pair of arms around his waist told Angus that Jeannie was awake. He put a hand on hers and squeezed gently. She was too shy to speak to him with the captain and all his men there.

They were approaching a bend when the forward scout came into sight, returning at full speed. “Bodies, lord, ours.”

“Forward, at the gallop,” shouted Keldric.

No wonder this is a holy place, thought Angus, as they burst from the narrow glen. A triangle about three hundred yards across lay before them, a deep valley at each apex, and in the middle, a huge red boulder the size of a house. Just the sort of thing a god would create to show his might to his awestruck followers.

But now the sanctity was defiled: around the boulder were bodies lying scattered and grotesque, the chequered plaids slashed and torn.

“Check for the living," called Keldric as they swung down from their saddles. “Ervenwald, picket the horses.”

But even Angus could see that the massacre had happened hours before. The bodies were too still, the silence too compete.

He heard Jeannie give a whimper, and Keldric turned and said, "Take the child beyond the Rock, ironmaster. This is no sight for her eyes. I will call when you should come.”

Angus dismounted, lifted Jeannie from the pillion and, holding her tight against him, walked to the other side of the boulder.

She was trembling and he held her tightly, drawing almost as much comfort from her as she was from him. He spoke to her quietly. But: Heather. Heather must be among the dead, and any moment now, Jeannie would realise it.

“Master."

Angus turned. Duwald was standing there. " Master, the captain wishes to show you … something. I will take the child."

Angus hugged Jeannie. "I'll be back in just a moment, Jeannie love."

Her lips turned down as he set her on her feet, but Duwald squatted next to her and said, "Come, lass, let me tell you about Eimsha, my granddaughter. She has lovely red hair, just like you, and she likes …”

Angus hurried around the boulder. The Findian was standing on a ledge reached by four steps hewn into the rock. Angus climbed up to join him. At waist level a natural platform had formed in the rock, the surface fissured and cracked. On this lay two bodies covered in black shrouds, each shroud fixed into the cracks with seven iron nails on each side.

“I have not exposed them, ironmaster, but I think this is your wife and the lady Agnes."

Angus reached across to the smaller body, but Keldric raised a hand. "No, ironmaster. Let one of my men do it. If it is as I think …”

He watched as the shroud was lifted off the face, then jerked back The face was covered in blood, and iron spikes had been driven into the head: the eyes, the ears, the mouth. It was Heather, though barely recognisable. He fell to his knees and retched over the side of the boulder. He felt the captain’s hand on his shoulder.

When he turned back, the face was covered again, and the Findians were standing with bowed heads.

"No man should have to see that, of the woman he loved." The captain spoke softly.

"Why? Why would they do such a … barbaric, such a… savage thing,” Angus whispered.

"Because they are barbarians and savages, ironmaster. This is what they do. And this was planned - they knew Terrans were coming. We were betrayed by someone in Findias. This,” and he gestured to the bodies, “this is how the Baian contain a witch’s power. Her tongue is pinioned by a spike of iron so her spirit cannot utter spells, her eyes and ears likewise, so her spirit cannot see and cannot hear. An iron dagger driven through her heart. Her shroud is fixed to the earth by iron nails so that she cannot rise from the dead."

"I... I hope she was dead before they did that."

"I think she was, ironmaster. Her throat has been cut.”

Angus winced, but the Findian shook his head. “Not by the Baian, ironmaster. They torture first, and I see no sign of that. I think that was my cousin, anticipating annihilation and fulfilling his promise to my father to protect them, as far as he was able.”

Killed by their friends to save them from their enemies. Poor Heather. She’d survived Fabia and Valhalla, she’d survived Toba, the latter two far more dangerous planets than Fianna, only to die here. And Agnes: So many years in the field, experience second to none, respected to the level of awe by both the colonial service and the colonial rulers she had served. This was to be her last posting and was now the last indeed.

“I thank lord Osric for that.” He looked the young man full in the face. "By Terran standards, lord Keldric, the Findians are a young people, but you have what many of us lack: the integrity to see a duty of honour clearly and the courage to carry it out."

They turned to the thud of running feet. Duwald, carrying Jeannie, came around the Rock. “The Baian, lord. They come.”


	2. Fight to the death

“To arms!” shouted Keldric. “Form defensive arc. Ervenwald, tether the horses, stay within. Ironmaster, take the child, stay within. All, move!”

The sound of galloping horses grew louder, and a band of orange and black clad men swept around the boulder.

As they reined in, a dust cloud settling around them, Angus's heart sank. Fifty at least, far outnumbering the Findians. They dismounted and three stepped to the front. They wore white robes and had cowls over their heads: Baian druids.

The druid in the centre pushed back his cowl, revealing a white haired, seamed face with heavy black brows. Down the man’s forehead were three long scars. His eyes scanned them, resting for a moment on Angus and Jeannie. Then, stepping forward, he gave a courteous nod in greeting to Keldric, and spoke in a Fiannic dialect. Angus had learnt the language, but the druid’s accent was so strong he could make out little of it, except for the words, “Terran callieach.” _Terran witch_.

The Findian listened, then spoke a one word answer, “Séanaimid.” _We refuse._

The druid leant forward and spoke again, and Angus could hear the urging in his voice.

Again Keldric listened, and again answered with the same word, followed by a sentence. It was so rapidly spoken that Angus could not follow.

Was this about him? Why else would the Baian be talking rather than just attacking?

He took a step forward. “Is he talking about me, lord Keldric?”

The Findian half turned to face him. "No, ironmaster, he is talking about dishonour."

The Baian scowled, turned and exchanged words with one the two druids flanking him. The druid stepped forward, pushed back the cowl and spoke in English. “Yes, Terran witch, he is talking about you. These men, these Fiann men, are to die for you, Terran witch." It was a woman, a young woman. She too had scars down her forehead.

Angus stared at her. How could he do this? His life or the lives of fifteen Fiann? And, no question that with the odds against them, he was going to die anyway. At least this way he could save Jeannie’s life.

He turned to Keldric and said, "I will go with them. The Terrans are here to serve Fianna, not the other way around."

The Fiann scowled at him. "You cannot go. It would dishonour the Findian Guard. It would dishonour the House of Lugh."

"If I do not go, it will dishonour me. Would you deny another man his honour?" This is so bizarre, he thought. Terrans never spoke of honour: it was a naive concept. But this was Fianna, and honour was a living, driving force.

The Fiann glared at him, his scowl deepening. “Your honour demands a heavy price of me, ironmaster.” But he stepped to one side.

Angus turned and walked to the rock. He could feel Jeannie's heart pounding and her arms were tight around his neck. He kissed her, then placed her on the steps, saying, “ I love you, princess. Sit there quietly." She sat there, her arms wrapped around her body, tears running down her face.

He turned and walked toward the Baian.

But the old druid raised his hand, turned and spoke to the young woman again. She replied, and he spoke again, curtly. She turned to Angus and said. "The child also."

Angus stopped in shock. "You would kill a child?"

The young woman turned to the old druid and spoke fiercely. He replied sharply. She glared at him, then turned to Angus and said, "Chief druid says the child is a witch, and daughter of a witch. She defiles the soil of Fianna. She is worse than you, for she is the future." She dropped her head, staring at the ground.

Behind him Keldric said, "I told you they were savages. Only a savage would kill a child, an innocent girl-child. Step back, ironmaster. Your honour is satisfied. We will send them whence they came, to the Shades of Uffern."

Angus shook his head. “No.”

He turned and, letting his shoulders slump, slowly walked back to the Rock. He picked Jeannie up and hugged her. How could he tell her? It was impossible to explain to a child. All he could say was, "Princess, I love you more than all the world, more than all the worlds that ever were."

He climbed the steps, and heard the Baian murmuring behind him. But that was all. He did not hear them coming, or the sounds of battle as the Findians tried to stop them.

He reached the ledge and turned and, holding her tightly against him with one arm, pulled the knife from the sheath, took a deep breath and slashed it across her throat. Her eyes widened, then creased in pain. She struggled for a moment as the blood fountained from her throat, drenching him. She tried to breathe, and he heard a gurgling noise that he knew would stay with him for the rest of his days. Then she went limp, and he laid her on the stone shelf, next to her mother. Above him he heard the falcon cry.

The Baian gave a shout, but still he heard no sounds of them coming after him. He turned and wiped the blood from his eyes so he could see. The Baian had not moved.

Now it was his turn to die, but he would let the Baian do that for him. And if he could, he would take some with him.

He descended the steps and walked slowly towards the Baian. He could not understand why they had not tried to stop him. With so many, even the Findians could not have delayed them long. Then he noticed that the chief druid had his hand raised to hold his men back.

But when Angus reached the Findians, Keldric barred his way, standing massive with arms folded. His biceps bulged above his fists, displaying the blue swirling tattooes. "Ironmaster, your honour is served. You have saved your child: her spirit has joined her mother's in Tirna N’Og. If you wish to avenge her, we will fight with you. If you do not, we will fight for you."

Angus shook his head. "Fianns must not die for Terrans. Fifteen men must not die for one man."

The Findian did not budge. "We do not die for you but for the honour of the House of Lugh. Before, there was the hope of saving the child. No longer. Your honour has been served. Now ours must be served. It is not a question of Terran and Fiann. It is not a question of one man and fifteen men. It is a question of Findian honour. We here die anyway."

Angus stared at him. "That is your last word?"

The Findian nodded.

Angus held out his hand. "Then let us die together."

The Findian stared at him, then clasped his hand in both of his. "Ha, you speak as a Findian, Oenghus Ironmaster. But you have no sword."

“I have this,” and Angus drew out the rod of tempered steel. It had a pointed end. “It is the length of a short sword, and may be used for stabbing.”

“Ironrod, we shall call you then.” Keldric turned to his men. "So, my clan-brothers, we find that the Terrans are men after all. But too late, for us and for Findias. For who shall bear witness to the stand of Keldric’s Patrol of the Findian Guard at Fuill Rock? Before this day's sun has set, my brothers, we will be feasting in Tirna N’Og. Ho, Duwald, give my sword-brother Ironrod a shield, and stand you on his other side. Give him both room and shieldwall, my swordmaster, for though the Terran’s courage shines, I fear it will not be matched by his skill."

Then he raised his sword, shouted, "For Findias," and, chanting, "Findias, Findias, Findias," the Findians charged at the Baian.

The druids had gone. The Baian clashed their swords to their shields, shouted, "Leòr, leòr, leòr," and ran at the Findians. A shadow swept over Angus and again he heard the great bird cry, above the clash of steel on steel. For a few minutes the superior skill of the Findians told and they were able to hold the Baian. Thrusting, parrying, turning blows, Keldric and Duwald, on either side of Angus, quickly downed two Baian warriors each. But Findians were falling at each end, and Keldric shouted, "Withdraw, in order, to the Rock, form arc, form arc."

The Baian attacked fiercely as the Findians withdrew, step by step, and by the time they had reached the Rock, only five Findians were still standing.

Angus found himself in a state of shock and disbelief. The ferocity of the battle, the crash and thud of impact of sword on sword and on shield, the grunts and shouts of the attacking men, the cries and groans of the wounded stunned him. What was he doing here, a civil engineer educated in a university light years away, trained to design dams, sewage works, roads? What was he doing on an Iron Age battleground, armed and fighting?

And why was he still alive and unwounded? He could see that Keldric and Duwald had been protecting him as well as themselves, but the odds being what they were, he should have fallen at the first onslaught. It was almost as if the Baians were avoiding him. He had attacked with more ferocity than skill, and had seen one Baian fall to a lucky thrust to the throat, and other stagger back from a stab in the stomach, gushing blood. But even a novice swordsman should have been able to kill him easily. Were they purposely avoiding him, to keep him alive. If they were, it was for another death. Of that he was sure.

They were now backed against the Rock. He heard a grunt and a groan, and out of the corner of his eye saw Duwald slump to the ground, blood gushing from a wound in his throat.

Angus leant across and grabbed the sword, then glanced across at Keldric. Blood was streaming from a wound in the Fiann’s side and his shield arm hung limp and useless. His teeth bared, the young man raised his sword, yelled, "Just you and me now, brother. At them! For Findias!” and sprang forward, slashing and thrusting. Angus leapt with him, but a tall man with blue spiral tattoos on his cheeks knocked both swords away with a double bladed axe, then thrust the steel head-spike into Keldric’s face. As the Fiann collapsed backwards, Angus sprang at the Baian, sword raised. The Baian raised his axe to block the blow, but even as he did so, Angus heard the gyrfalcon scream, felt the shadow cross him, and a moment later the axeman’s head was covered in a gouging, ripping, screaming fury of beak and claws.

The Baian dropped his axe and grabbed at the bird with both hands. He would kill it, but only after it had wreaked vengeance for its master. Now Angus must die in same spirit.

With a cold savagery he ran past the shrieking axeman, now on his knees trying to tear the bird from his head, and slashed at the mass of Baian warriors before him. The sword shuddered and rang as a man blocked it, and a shield boss was thrust into his face. Half stunned, he staggered, and someone seized him from behind. His sword was knocked from his hand. He twisted loose and turned, but now he was surrounded and another hand grabbed him. He struggled recklessly, trying to throw himself onto their swords. A blow on the back of the head made him stumble, and another knocked him to the bloody ground. His last thought was that he had failed. Now they would torture him. But what did it matter? Jeannie was dead, by his hand. It did not matter what happened to him now.


	3. The sacrifice

The voice forced itself into his consciousness. It was harsh, gutteral and strongly accented, and speaking a Fiannic tongue.

Angus’s head was aching, his left side was in agony, his arms felt like hot knives were being driven into them. He shifted position to try to get relief, and the voices ceased. Angus tried to open his eyes. One was glued shut by congealed blood, but he could open the other.

He was lying next to the Rock, his feet lashed together, his hands tied around a stake behind him. In the twilight the three Baian druids were staring at him, their faces hidden in the shadow of their hoods.

One of them spoke, male, but younger. His tone was argumentative, and he gestured towards Angus, and then to the Rock.

The harsh voice spoke again. “Is é an fhuil ar an chloch an-diugh.” _The blood is on the stone today._ It was the old druid.

The young man voice spoke again, but the old druid cut him off with a gesture. “Briseadh-latha aig,” he said. _At daybreak._ He looked directly at Angus, nodded and said, “Fhàgail fhéin aig gach neach.” _Everyone has his fate_. Then he turned and strode away.

The young male druid glared after him, then stepped behind Angus. He jerked at the ropes tying Angus’s hands behind the stake, then stepped round to check those tying his feet together. Then he stood up, glared at Angus, drew his finger across his throat in an abrupt gesture, said, “Briseadh-latha.” He turned away.

The last druid stepped closer and stared at him. It was the young female druid. With an expressionless face, she said, “He say, come morning time, you die.” The man called to her impatiently, and she left. A few moments later Angus heard horses trotting away.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think. What was happening? The younger druid had wanted to sacrifice him right away, the older said, no, tomorrow morning. They had gone away and left him. At dawn they would return, and kill him.

Well, it made no difference. Now or tomorrow. He was going to die anyway. He felt sick with pain, both mental and physical, and just lay there. He lacked the will to do anything. Was there any point? Jeannie was dead. What had he to look forward to? A loveless existence in which every time he saw a child he would be reminded of what he had lost, every time he saw a baby animal, a sunset, a flowing river he would be reminded that he had no one to show it to, no one to share it with. He’d lost Heather a year ago, and now Jeannie, irrevocably. Tears welled up. Why should he go on? The roots that tied him to life had been cut. All he had to do was to lie here and a Baian druid would put him out of his misery. He’d join the others: his child, Heather and Agnes, the Findians who had died for him.

The Findians who had died for him. And here he was, still alive, but giving up. Wasting their sacrifice. But what could he do?

He could try. He could at least bloody try.

A bright orb rising over the mountains in front of him startled him: was it dawn already? Had he been fretting and dreaming the whole night? Was it already time to die?

But no: that was the way he had come with the Findians, that was west. The sun rose in the east. Eos, it must be Eos, the brighter of Fianna’s two moons. Time was slipping away: if he was going to try, he’d better get started, hopeless though it felt.

With a groan of pain as much mental as physical, he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Feeling the stake with his fingers, he found it was not one stake but three rods driven in together. The tether rods the Findians used for their horses. The Baians were no engineers: three thin rods were weaker than one thick stake. Still, they had been hammered deep into the ground, and he could not move them. Not in this position, anyway. If he could get higher, he would increase the leverage more. He slid his bound arms up the rods as far as he could, then, gripping them, he heaved his body up and got his knees underneath. He tried but could get no higher: the top of the stake had been hammered into a head and the cord would not pass it. Already blood tricked down his hands from skin torn by the rough edges of the rods

He leaned back against the rods, wincing as they pressed into the cuts in his wrists. No give at all. Why? He’d expect a little at least, as surface soil compressed. These were held rigidly. How? The soil cover was very thin here, so they had probably scraped it away and hammered the rods into a crack in the rock. In that case the fixity would be strong across the crack and weak along it. He shuffled round on his knees a little and heaved again. Still no give. He shuffled round again. He had moved around a quarter of a circle before he felt the resistance weaken.

He began rocking back and forth, pulling and pushing. Gradually the rods began to give a little, then more and more. When they were loose enough to rock freely, he slid his hands down, grasped them tightly in his hands and pulled. Still too tight. He rocked them back and forth again, and then around in a circle, then grabbed and pulled. This time they came out.

He was free! Well, free to move around, anyway. His feet were tied and his hands were still lashed behind him.

Then he heard the click of a horse’s hooves on stone. Quickly he slipped to the ground, his hands sliding down the rods, holding them upright. A Baian guard, checking on him. He let his head slump forward. He heard the horse stop. If the man dismounted to check closely, he would be found out. Slowly he lifted his head and stared at the Baian. Fortunately the man had no pitch torch, and was just checking by the light of Eos. The Baian stared back at him impassively, then clucked to his horse and rode on.

As soon as the sound of hooves died away, Angus lifted out the rods behind him and, one at a time, pulled them from the loop of cord and laid them down. Then, groaning at the pain in his bruised body, he got to his feet and looked around. Nearby was a long low mound, covered in turf. The Findian dead. The Baian had treated them with respect, and buried them as they would their own battle dead. That suggested foresight. They knew that their act would release a hurricane of retribution from the earl, but wished to convey the message that this was about Terrans, not Findias.

And so far they had been thwarted. Three Terrans were dead, but not at their hands and with no sacrificial rites. No doubt they would kill him in such a way as to remedy that. He could expect a slow, painful death.

Unless he got away. First he had to free his hands, to somehow cut the cord binding them. The Baian had taken his knife and would certainly have taken all the weapons from the dead Findians. What else with a cutting edge could there be here? The iron spikes that held down the shrouds over Heather and Agnes. He climbed the steps to the platform and crawled across to Heather’s body. Yes, the spikes had been made in a smithy from squared rod, so each one had rough edges that he could use to abrade the cord. They had been driven into fissures, and were rigidly held. By feel he slid his hands over one that protruded more than the others and began to saw. He could have done that with the tether rods, now he thought about it. But no, the rods had been inside the loop, and would have torn his wrist to shreds. Even now, the slightest change in position would cause the ragged edge of the spike to catch and cut into his flesh. Soon the cords were slippery with his blood.

He had almost reached the stage where he felt he could no longer stand the pain when he felt the first strand give. A little more sawing, and the second, already half through, gave. 

He lay there for a moment, gathering his strength and his will. But the impetus that had brought him this far drove him on. Working one of the nails loose, he used it to saw through the cord tying his feet. He was free!

Where was Jeannie? He turned, and horror clutched his heart. A small shape lay next to Agnes, covered in a shroud. Jeannie. If they had driven spikes through her jaw … He reached across and ripped the shroud off. No. Just the ghastly wound across her throat. His work. He couldn’t bear look at her and wrapped her small, still body in the shroud again.

Now he had to put a decoy where he had been lying. Not Heather or Agnes, he couldn’t use them for that. He’d use a Findian, from the mound, then move the women there, away from this ... place of savagery.

First, where were the Baian? He slid down the steps and peered around the Rock. A fire was burning near the mouth of one of the valleys, and he could see figures moving back and forth in front of the flames. He stared for a few moments, and could see no one coming towards him. Turning, he walked across to the burial mound, hidden in the shadow of the Rock.

The turf had been laid in squares, and he lifted off sufficient to reveal one of the shorter Findians. He saw the lined face, the grey hair, as he dragged the body out: Duwald. Good: the swordmaster would be pleased to be still fighting the Baian after his death. Angus dragged the body to where he himself had lain. He took the remains of the cord and tied Duwald’s hands behind his back, then tied his feet together. The limbs were stiff but full rigor mortis had not yet set in. Picking up one of the rods, Angus pushed it through the wrist cord and worked it back into the crack. To hold it in place he dropped small stones into the crack and tamped them down using another of the rods. It was all very makeshift, but with any luck would pass a moonlight inspection.

Now for the more harrowing tasks. The women and the witch spikes. He climbed to the rock platform, freed the shrouds and worked the pinioning spikes loose. Some had penetrated bone and he clenched his teeth as he worked, pushing his feelings aside. It took time, and time was desperately short, but he could not leave them like this. He carried Agnes’s body across and laid her in the hollow left by Duwald, then returned for Heather and Jeannie. He carried them down together and laid them side by side; the woman whose life he’d ruined and their child he’d killed.

He stood looking at the still bodies in the dim light, tears trickling down his face. Hell, he’d made such a mess of their lives. Heather had loved him once, and he her. Jeannie had been born and it seemed that life need offer him no more. Then he’d taken a posting on Toba. Heather, with a new baby, had not been keen. She’d been right. The Terran Project had been a disaster. A weak Project leader succumbing to pressure from a naive Colonial Office minister eager to gather kudos by pushing a feudal society towards democracy. An unstable feudal society, which proved to be a powder keg, and the Project had lit the match. Heather had joined him, but when unrest began she’d been evacuated to Earth, with all the other women with children. In the civil war and flight through the mountains that followed, he’d met Shakira and, in the stress and tumult of the times, the inevitable had happened. No excuse though. Word had filtered back to Earth and Heather had left him. Angus had hoped to woo her back, but Charles had swooped in. Angus hadn’t stood a chance; a farmboy against Prince Charming.

Charles! Of everything he had done to Heather, that was the worst. Her idealism and high standards, and Charles’s wheeler-dealing and sneering superficiality. It had not been a happy marriage, but Heather wanted stability for Jeannie. Now, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. He relaid the turf over them and stood looking at the spot in the moonlight for a moment. He found he could open the other eye now. The tears had dissolved the encrusting blood.

As he stood, he heard the clicking of hoof on stone. The Baian were coming to check their prisoner again. Where could he hide? Only one place was possible. Quickly he ran to the Rock, grabbed the remaining rods and climbed to the sacrificial platform. He lay flat and pulled one of the shrouds over him, leaving a gap so he could watch. He held one of the rods ready to throw – not that it would do him much good: he’d probably miss. But it was unnecessary. The Baian did not even slow this time, just glanced at the recumbent figure as he rode by.

Angus shivered as he rose. It was cold and, in the windy valleys, would get much colder. What could he use for warmth? The shrouds; nothing else was available. Unless he stripped a dead Fiann and he couldn’t bring himself to do that. The shrouds were stiff with dried blood and linked to the deaths of his loved ones, but they were a dense weave and far better than nothing.

He'd been here too long already, now he must get away. He walked to the edge of the rock and peered round at the Baian campfire. Fewer moving silhouettes now. Most of the Baian must sleeping. Good.

Angus lowered himself to hands and knees and began crawling to the western mouth of the glen. He crawled on a dogleg, keeping the Rock between him and the fire until he reached the trees. Then, in the line of sight of the Baian, now on his stomach but with a dark backdrop, he headed for the glen. With his head almost touching the ground, he watched as he moved across the open. The campfires were only about two hundred yards away. Most of the remaining warriors would have their eyes adjusted for the light of the fire, but it needed only one to be standing in front of the fire and looking out. In the moonlight he would look like a rock – but a moving rock.

As he approached the darkness of the glen he was seized by an urge to spring up and run to safety. He resisted it and crawled on until he was well into the shadows. He got to his feet and looked back at the Rock. ‘Goodbye, my Jeannie. I’m sorry, Heather.’ He glanced at the campfires. If the Baian came after him, this time he would make sure he was not taken alive. He turned and started walking carefully down the trail. It would take a while for his eyes to adjust fully, and in the meantime he did not want to make a noise that a sharp-eared Baian might hear.

Now, freed from demanding action, his mind slipped back into depression: Jeannie was dead. What was he doing this for? It had no purpose. Then he kicked a loose rock, heard it click against another and his heart jumped. He swore under his breath. He’d got this far: he’d be damned if he was going to give the bloody Baian the satisfaction of killing him. If he was going to die, it would be by his decision, not theirs. He was going to escape from the bastards.


	4. The escape

Escape, yes, but how? From the Rock of Fuill to Findias was forty miles, Keldric had said. Years ago, in his marathon days, Angus could have run that in seven or eight hours. Not now, and especially not in his battered condition. He tried jogging, but stopped after a few paces. Every ache, every muscle cried out at the abuse. No, he’d have to walk it. How much time did he have? If the Baians did not discover his ruse until dawn, maybe six or seven hours. He did the calculations in his head. The Baians coming after him at say twenty miles per hour, him walking at say four miles per hour for say six hours. He’d cover twenty four miles by dawn. It would take the Baian just over an hour to cover the distance, so he’d be at twenty eight or twenty nine miles when they caught him. He shook his head. Not enough, not nearly enough. He wouldn’t make it. Findias was just too far. Yes, he could walk looking over his shoulder and run into the trees when he saw them, but with them between him and Findias, and with trackers, they would get him, and sooner rather than later.

So what could he do? He couldn’t make more time, he couldn’t bring Findias any closer and he couldn’t hide with any hope of eventual escape. Or could he? Maybe he could do all three. That mountain-goat route that the tracker Astlin had described. If he went up there, he could cut across the hairpin bend. He’d would have more time, the distance would much shorter and, once he was over the first ridge, he would be hidden from any pursuers. How would he find his way? He had an image of the layout of the land in his mind, but crossing it at night? He’d get lost, no question. Unless … he touched his top pocket and: Yes! They hadn’t taken his compass. Either the Baian thought it was a talisman and intended to burn it with him, or they’d missed it. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he had it.

But six or seven hours to escape assumed they didn’t find he’d escaped before dawn. If they did … He broke into a jog again. Aches assailed him from all sides, but he forced himself to keep going. After about a few hundred paces of lurching along, the pain subsided into a continuous but bearable ache.

How far did he have to go? About four miles to Nighean Fuill, but after that it was pointless talking in miles: the terrain was so difficult that it made more sense to think in terms of hours. Perhaps four hours up Uabhal Mor, another three crossing Staca Choire, then four or five hours down the cliffs and through the haunted hills. So twelve to thirteen hours from the Rock of Fuill, assuming he could somehow get down the Staca Wall. He’d face that when he had to, and not before.

Could he keep going that long? He had no food or water. Water he could probably find: there would be streams and tarns up in the corrie. Food: no doubt a tracker like Astlin could live off the land, but he couldn't. He lacked both the time and the skill to forage. He'd last eaten at breakfast in Findias, before dawn, about twelve hours ago. Twenty-four hours without food would not be a problem normally, but he would be burning up a huge amount of energy crossing the mountains. Well, he had no choice: he either covered the distance or the Baian would get him. They would be furious at being outwitted by a mere Terran, and when they didn't find him on the trail, would start searching the mountains.

He reached Nighean Fuill in about an hour, as far as he could judge. Standing next to the rock he looked up at Uabhal Mor. In the moonlight he couldn’t see any details of the mountainside, but could just make out the cleft as a diagonal black line on lighter grey. Below was the sombre darkness of dense woodland. He couldn’t see the arête at all. He took a compass bearing on the lowest visible point of the cleft, then set off across the turf and into the trees.

Within fifty paces he was climbing over logs, detouring around thickets, stooping under interlocked branches. In patches of moonlight he would check his bearing on the compass. His clothes kept snagging on branches, and his palms were soon black with sap and bark residue. His progress was slow, too slow, but this was the only way he could go. With the twisting, turning and clambering over obstacles, he had scarcely noticed that the land was rising, so was surprised, when eventually he reached the tree line at the foot of a short scree, to look back and see that he was a few hundred feet above the valley floor.

But it had taken him nearly an hour. He was already behind schedule. No question but that he would reach the floodplain in which Findias lay well after dawn. Would the Baian be waiting? Perhaps, but he’d face that problem if and when he got there.

He looked around. His compass bearing had led him true: he was about a hundred feet from the foot of the cleft. He angled up across the scree to it. At this point it was a narrow, steep-sided gully about twice his height. It was full of loose rocks that slid downwards as soon as he stepped on them. The ridge would be better, though it was sharp edged and had vertical steps around which he had to climb. But on the ridge he'd be exposed to falling, which terrified him. He’d also visible from the valley. It was too risky. He climbed on, slipping, sometimes falling. Soon his hands were bruised and bleeding. This wasn’t working. It was too steep, too many rocks to climb over. He’d never get up it. He must go back to the trail and take his chances there.

He climbed to the ridge to see how far he had come: two or three hundred feet above the trees, that was all. He could still see the dark bulk of Nighean Fuill. He glanced up the glen and froze, then dropped sprang back into the cleft and looked over the edge. Lights. Flickering lights from the flames of pitch pine torches were coming down the valley. His ruse had fooled the Baian for less than four hours. Now they were after him, and on horseback. They would sweep down the valley to the mouth, then return, combing through the trees. The glen was suicide.

He watched as the lights reached Nighean Fuill. They paused there, eddied around a little, then swept off down the glen again. He watched until they disappeared at a turn in the trail, then turned and started scrambling upward again.

Fifty feet later he paused. This was no good. Too slow, too exhausting. He still had more than ten miles to go over broken country. He’d have to go up on the ridge. It was risky: the death fall if he slipped, and if Baian trackers were coming behind the riders, they might see him in the moonlight. But it was a risk he’d have to take, for he'd never get up the side of Uabhal Mor otherwise.

He scrambled across to the ridge and started climbing. Yes, this was much better. Steep, loose shale underfoot, a high drop on the valley side, but at least he was making progress.

He felt very exposed on the ridge in the moonlight, and moved into the shadow of the gully whenever he could. He glanced down at the glen as he climbed, but not often - he wanted no reminding of what would happen if he slipped. Still, when he did look he saw no lights, either coming or going. The wind, a gentle breeze in the glen, grew steadily stronger and colder as he climbed higher. He wrapped the shrouds around himself.

He struggled upwards, trying not to look ahead: it would not bring the ridge to him any faster, and the sight of how far he had to go was dispiriting. He tried not to stop for rests, for always at the back of his mind was the thought of the Baian trackers. Come the dawn, casting back and forward along the Gorias Trail, they would find his track, and from then the pursuit would be swift, direct, and deadly. He had only a few hours grace and he must use them well.

The mountain ridge of Uabhal Mor, when he finally reached it, was a shock. The steep slope flattened abruptly and an icy gust struck him, so powerful he had to drop to his knees to avoid being blown over. Shielding his eyes from the wind, he looked out beyond the ridge. Somewhere out there lay the haven of Findias. He did not want to even think about the safety and warmth it offered. Threatened by the cold, the distance, the terrain and the Baian, it seemed unattainable.

He crawled forward across the ridge and stared down. Before him lay Staca Choire. Astlin had described it as a frozen Hell, and in the moonlight the description looked apt. It was a huge, steep, bowl-shaped wasteland of rock and snow. A flurry of white flakes stun his cheeks. His heart sank. Was it snowing? If it was, he was a dead man. He could not survive a snowstorm: he had no mountain boots, no waterproof gear, little warm clothing. But no, the flakes were blowing up, not down. Not that that meant much in this wind, but the sky was clear. The snow was blowing up from the corrie.

Below him black bands of rock, outlined against the snowy whiteness, arced across the hollow to the north. And he had to go north-west to get to Staca Mor, so he had to descend, cross, then climb again. How? He looked down. The hillside was less steep on this side and he could just make out a rock band angling away to the west, cutting across the others, down towards the corrie floor. He swung round, lowered himself to a footing and, holding onto tufts of tough moorland grass, climbed down to the band. Then, half crouching against the wind and the slope, he began scrambling down it. The going was easier, though the gusting wind threatened to blow him off the mountainside several times. When he reached the corrie floor he took a compass bearing on a notch in the ridge of Staca Mor silhouetted against the night sky. He had only a rough idea of where he should be heading, and the notch was as good a place as any.

He was shivering. His descent had been slow and cautious, and the wind had chilled him. He untied the shrouds from around his waist, and wrapped them around himself. Some parts were stiff with dried blood, but he drove that from his mind. All his energy, all his thought had to be devoted to survival.

He started across the shallow hollow, leaning into the wind. Following his bearing was difficult, for he had to detour around rock outcrops, cliffs and hollows full of snow. He stopped at a tarn to drink. The icy water made him catch his breath, but he knew his body needed the liquid. Leaving the tarn he slipped on a icy rock and fell, banging his knee and wetting his arm. Hell! A broken leg would kill him up here, even a badly twisted ankle might. And his arm was soaked - if his torso got wet, wind chill would bring on hypothermia very quickly. Already his toes, wet from leaky boots, were becoming numb. Still, he was on rising ground again, and the climbing was warming him. But for how long? He had not eaten for over twenty hours and soon his energy reserves would run out.

The slope grew steeper and steeper, until he was all but using his hands to pull himself up. Then, abruptly, the slope flattened. Twenty paces further and he came to the top of a cliff. He had reached the ridge of Staca Mor. Far below, to the north-west, he could see a tear-drop shaped glow in the darkness. Findias, the city of light, home and safety. It was close, about five miles away, Astlin had said, but between lay a formidable obstacle, one he had driven from his mind as too frightening to think about. Now he had no choice, as it lay at his feet and across his path: the Wall of Staca.

Fifteen hundred feet of sheer cliff, it was a dominating feature looming over Findias, even at that distance. Lit orange by the setting sun, its dramatic beauty showed the power of Nature. On Earth it would be a rock climber’s paradise, but here, to him, a purgatory: he suffered from acrophobia; heights terrified him. But, terrified or not, he had to get down it.

How? Was there even a way down? Astlin had said the Wall was impassable, but as a way down would have led only to a place all Fiann held in superstitious awe, probably no one had ever looked. Astlin had turned south to the trade route. Angus could not do that: the Baian were that way. To both north and south the cliff height decreased along its length, but gradually, far too gradually to be of use to him. Still, in front of him was clearly no way down and whatever he did, he must do it quickly: the wind was chilling him more, moment by moment.

He turned and walked along the cliff top, northwards. The ground fell and rose again, higher each time, but each time he crawled to the edge, the cliff still dropped away almost vertically, with no sign of any way down. And it had begun snowing, he could feel the flakes hitting his face.

Snow? At the height of summer, even at this altitude? And from a clear sky? Impossible, surely. Maybe, but there it was. No, not snow, sleet. The flakes were frozen droplets which stung as they hit his face. And his boots crunched as he walked over it. Snow or sleet, it made no difference: he was not dressed for it and he couldn’t survive long in it. Still, he must go on as far as he could: a way down might be no more than a hundred yards away. The fall was thick on the ground, and thickening as he walked: his boots were sinking in.

He passed the notch on which he had taken his bearing. It was formed by a single high rock on the edge of the cliff. Did this mean a fault in the local geology, perhaps a cleft which followed the fault down the Wall? Hope flared, but again when he went to the edge, he could see no passage. He continued up the ridge, further and further. Every step was a little closer to Findias, but also away from the city, as the higher he climbed the further he had to descend.

The sleet was thicker and stinging even more now, and he put his arm up to shield his eyes. The icy droplets melted and ran down his face. He tasted the water: it was earthy; no, muddy. How could that be? Sleet came from the sky, and was pure water. This wasn’t. Muddy water came from suspended soil. Was this sleet just … frozen spray from a waterfall? Must be. He tasted it again, and immediately spat it out. Not just mud, but mud tainted with something dead. He wrinkled his nose and spat again, and again. The water must be passing over a rotting animal somewhere upstream.

But a waterfall meant a cliff, a vertical cliff, and to judge from how long he had been walking in its spray, it must be very high. No way could he climb that at night, especially if he was half blinded by flying frozen water. So soon he’d have to turn back soon, and the longer he went on towards it, the wetter he would get.

He turned back and started retracing his steps. Within a hundred paces his footprints had vanished, filled by the falling sleet.

He reached the notch, stopped and stared. A line of tracks crossed his way. They were pawprints, a four legged animal and, judging by the spacing, a big one, at least six feet long. Pawprints meant a carnivore. A nimravid, and it must have passed recently: the tracks he had made were gone, but the pawprints were still fairly clear. His heart lurched: hunted by the Baian, was he to be hunted by a mountain lion as well? The earl wore a nimravid pelt on state occasions, but Angus had never seen a live one. Right now he would rather stay in that state of innocence.

He stared around. Where was it? Ready to pounce? Nothing but the wind and rocks and snow. Where had it gone? He followed the line of tracks with his eye. Up to the tower. No, to one side, between the tower and a rock leaning against it. Tracks leading there, but no tracks leading away. Did that mean … the nimravid knew of a way down?

He cautiously approached the pinnacle. Yes, there was a gap just wide and high enough for a great cat – and a human. A lair? No, not deep enough. He knelt down and cautiously began crawling through. He half expected a snarl and great ripping claws to greet him as he cautiously peered out when he reached the end, but there was nothing. No nimravid and no way forward – until he looked down and saw a ledge about a foot wide sloping steeply downwards. In the moonlight it seemed to get thinner and then vanish, but if it did, where was the nimravid? No, the cat must know this as a viable route, and if a big four legged creature could negotiate it, a human certainly could.

Well, some could, but not him. He needed something much wider before he would risk a descent. The climb up to Uabhal Mor had been bad enough: the slope had been steep, but this was damn near vertical. Apart from the risk, the fear would freeze him. He couldn’t do it. He crawled back through the cleft and stood up. Now where? He’d explored north, so south it had to be.


	5. Day 2  The Haunted Hills

He started walking along the ridge, then stopped: what the hell was he doing? South? Even if he found another cleft, he had no guarantee it would take him to the bottom. Besides, dawn must be near, and the Baian trackers, who must be on his trail by now, would be closing on him.

Here he had a route down which he knew led down the Staca Wall, and he was turning it down because he was scared? No, the cat route it had to be. He had no choice, fear of heights or not.

The mountain lion had gone head first, but he wasn't going to risk that. Not with a precipice in front of him, not to speak of the cat. He went in feet first, then lowered himself down onto the ledge. Standing upright, he sidled along it, holding onto projecting flakes and nodules for balance. Several times a gust dragged at him, and fear surged through him. Twice he stopped, terrified, and had to force himself to go on. To help overcome his terror, he made himself edge along in a set sequence of movements.

His back to the drop, he’d slide his left foot along the ledge, reach out for a hold with his right hand, slide his body across the rock face, then follow with his right foot and right hand. Then he’d take a breath and do it again. And again. Slide, reach, grab, move. Slide, reach, grab, move. Quickly it became a ritual, and he lost himself in it, pushing the fact of the death drop behind him into a dark corner of his mind. After he had done it what seemed like countless times, the ledge began to narrow, but a crack started alongside. Soon it had developed into a gully wide enough to walk down: he was safe. From falling anyway, if not other dangers; there went the pawprints in a patch of mud.

Then he stopped: hell, once he reached to the foot of the gully, he would be in the hills, but what direction would he go? He needed a compass bearing, and he’d forgotten to take one. He turned and looked back. The sheer wall and the impossibly narrow ledge; he couldn’t go back there: it was suicidal. If he guessed the bearing, how much might he be out? Say ten degrees out over five miles: that would be almost a mile. An extra mile with the Baian prowling through the trees? It might feel and look suicidal to go back and get a bearing, but it would be suicidal not to. And he must go now - thinking about it would just make it harder.

He started sidling back along the ledge: ten feet … twenty … thirty … forty. He was a quarter way back before he caught the glimmer of light of Findias over his shoulder. Pushing himself as hard as he could against the cliff, he half turned and set the bearing on his compass. Then he carefully slid it into his pocket and sidled back down to the gully. As soon as he reached it, he squatted down, shaking, eyes shut. He’d done it. Of course, if he hadn’t been stupid, he wouldn’t have needed to. But the shaking was only part relief: some of it was cold. He pushed himself to his feet and started down again.

It was dark in the gully, but gradually the light grew - dawn was coming. The wind dropped, and then, strangely, it became difficult to see ahead. He stared. Mist. He was descending into mist. Wonderful - he was following a large predator down a gully with no way of escape and now, visibility was lessening.

But he had no choice: he had to go on, he had to get down; it was just another risk. He bent down and picked up a big flake of rock. It wasn't much, but better than nothing. On and on down the gully until, abruptly, the outer wall shrank and stopped, and he found himself in the open. A scree sloped down before him, losing itself in the mist. He’d descended the Staca Wall. All that remained between him and Findias were the hills and valleys of the Beinn nam Bodach. And the nimravid and possibly, by this time, the Baian.

He took out the compass and started to move, part walk and part slide, down the scree on the bearing he had set. The nimravid, with any luck, would had gone another way. Undoubtedly it would be hunting. As he descended, he wondered why it had not attacked him on the clifftop. Certainly the wind had been blowing in the wrong direction for the creature to scent him, but surely it could scent that his tracks were recent? Perhaps the combination of the smell of mud and rotting flesh in the sleet filling his footprints had been enough to confuse the animal.

Tall dark shapes loomed up in front of him in the mist and for a moment he thought of the spectres reputed to haunt these hills. Then the shapes coalesced into conifers: he had reached the treeline. Good: he was through the barren uplands and the chances of dying of exposure were receding. His survival margin was growing - as regards the terrain, anyway.

The threatening sound of the wind whistling past crags and over barren moors was gone; now the sounds were of the rustling of pines, the twitter of birds. Compared to the mountains it was welcoming and friendly, but he knew he could not lower his guard. He had five miles to go, rough terrain to cross and his energy was running out. Somewhere ahead of him was the nimravid, and his unskilled eyes would not recognise any evidence other than a pawprint in mud. Not that it made much difference: he had to get down, and the shortest and quickest way was to follow the compass bearing. He just had to chance to luck that the cat had gone a different way. At least he was behind it, and undoubtedly slower. With any luck it would be well ahead of him, seeking other prey.

Striding out, he descended quickly and the conifers gave way to oak and birch. He stopped to cut himself a staff, using the stone flake. This would be better against the great cat, though still not very effective. Leaving the flake behind, he pressed on, striding down the slope in the thinning woodland. A growing lightness told him the mist was lifting. This was a mixed blessing: he could see better, but also he could be seen better. All things considered, he preferred the mist. He began treading more carefully, avoiding twigs and branches which would break noisily.

He was crossing a stream when he noticed a pattern in the muddy soil. He stooped for a closer look. Yes, a pawprint. Fresh, too, for he could see the mud oozing back into the hollows. A sense of dread crept over him. Had he escaped from the Baian and crossed the mountains just to fall prey to an animal? He rose cautiously and looked around. Nothing except trees, grass and rocks. From the orientation of the print it was climbing the left hand side of the gully: he would take the right.

He began climbing, slowly, quietly, scanning around all the time. Then he froze: a tawny shape was crouching on the far bank about forty yards away. It was lion sized, but with shorter legs and a bulkier body. He gripped the staff harder, but knowing that if the creature decided to attack, he was a dead man. But it was not facing him, or even looking at him. It was crouched low, in stalking posture, and facing up the slope away from him. What was it hunting? He followed its line of sight and saw a patch of white a little way up the slope.

He stared at it and suddenly it rose into full view. A man, a druid in a white robe, and, as Angus stared, he recognised the younger Baian druid, the one who had dragged his finger across his throat. The man was grinning at him, and as Angus watched, raised an aurochs’ horn to his lips.

The blaring sound had an instantaneous effect on the nimravid. It charged, covering the ground in great bounds.

Instinct took over. “Look out!”

The man saw the nimravid and flung the horn at it, then drew a dagger from his belt. But he was doomed. The creature leapt the last few yards, swept the druid from his feet, seizing his throat in its jaws, the great claws sinking into his body.

Instinctively, Angus ran forward, yelling, waving his staff. But it was all over in few seconds. The nimravid raised its head and snarled at him, then, hooking two great canines into its prey’s eye sockets, began to drag its prize away.

He quickly came to his senses. The druid was dead, and anyway, what was he doing trying to rescue someone who intended to kill him? He was, in fact, incredibly lucky that the Baian had been there, for otherwise the great cat would have been hunting him. As matters stood, he should get himself away as quickly as he could. The nimravid, busy feeding, would probably not trouble him, but the druid had got off one horn call, so his warriors would be coming.

Watching for the nimravid, Angus ran down into the gully, picked up the horn and hurried away across the opposite bank. Once on the hillside again he strode out downhill on the compass bearing. To escape both mountain lion and Baian, he should put as much distance between the place and himself as possible. It was strange that the druid had been there alone. Druids weren’t warriors, and surely would not be out apprehending escapees. But he was in the haunted hills, where Astlin had refused to go. No doubt the Baian warriors felt the same way. But no doubt also they would come in daylight if a horncall told them the quarry had been sighted.

The slope was beginning to flatten and in front of him the trees were thinning. Then, through a gap, he could see the citadel, white in the morning sunlight, and below it the limestone walls of Findias. About a mile and a half away. He could run that in maybe fifteen minutes. But a horse could gallop it in three or four. Where were the Baian? Nearby, alert and closing, he was sure. As soon as he left the shelter of the trees, they would see him, and on horseback they would catch him. He needed help from Findias. Would the city guards be watching? Had they heard the druid’s horn call? Probably not; it had been too far away. He put the horn to his mouth and sounded a blast, long and mournful. They would hear this one and, of course, and so would the Baian. But now he had no choice. He waited, listening intently. No response from the City. He sounded the horn again and this time an answering call came. He sounded his call once more then, dropping the staff and the horn, ran out onto the grassland.

Another call came from the city walls, and he flung up both his arms in a gesture which he hoped they would understand - he needed help, and desperately. Another call came, but this time he just concentrated on running. He threw a glance over his shoulder. Yes, there they came - five Baian horsemen from different points at the foot of the hills, the closest about a quarter of a mile away.

But sweeping around the rock outcrop on which the city wall was built came four horsemen, galloping towards him, with another six soon appearing behind them.

Angus glanced over his shoulder again. The nearest Baian warrior was only two hundred yards behind him now. The nearest Findian was still a mile away. The rescue was coming, but too late. He had to do something to defend himself. But he had no weapons, only the shrouds, now wrapped around his waist. He pulled them loose as he ran.

He threw another glance over his shoulder. The Baian was now only fifty yards away. Angus ran another ten paces, then spun around and ran at his pursuer. The Baian was leaning forward in the saddle with his sword raised for a smashing blow, but Angus sprang to the other side of the horse and as he did so, flung an open shroud at the horse’s head.

The horse jerked his head up, disrupting his rider’s sword blow. Cursing, the Baian kicked out at Angus, and his stirrup tore across Angus’s cheek and knocked him over.

Angus rolled and sprang to his feet, ready to dodge the next sword blow. But there was no need. The shroud had landed on the horse's chest, but then slid down to catch on its legs. Impeded, the horse stumbled and fell, catapulting the rider over its head. The warrior hit the ground and lay still, and Angus ran past him, the blood coursing down his face. He exerted himself for the last sprint, expecting a slashing sword blow or a spear point in his back as he ran. He did not know where the other Baian were, but they must be close.

Then with a thunder of hooves, the Findians passed him, yelling. He stopped, gasping for breath, and turned. The Baian were galloping away, down the plain, the Findians after them. Angus turned and walked slowly towards the city.


	6. The Terran hospital

Damn, he kept shivering, and every time Elizabeth had to lift her hands to avoid tearing his face further as she stitched the wound. He clenched his teeth, both against the pain of the needle piercing his cheek and the shivers, and Elizabeth said, “It’s all right, Angus. I can handle it. Just two more, then we can put on the dressing.”

The surgery door opened and Charles burst in. He flinched when he saw the wound, and a look of disgust crossed his face. Then he said, “Good God, Angus-”

“Mask!” snapped Elizabeth, pointing, and Charles slid a surgical mask over his nose and mouth.

“Angus, what has happened? The rumours flying around …”

“I’m sorry, Charles. Heather is dead, killed by the Baian. Jeannie is also dead, and Agnes, and both Findian patrols.”

“Agnes? Heather and Jeannie? The earl’s son?”

“Yes. All the Findians. The Baian attacked us at Fuill Rock.”

“I opposed this trip, Angus. I felt it was premature, and now -”

Elizabeth raised a hand. "Now is not the time for reproaches or accusations, Charles. I am, we all are sorry about Heather and Jeannie. We all will miss Agnes's leadership. We must weather the loss, then take stock."

"But as communications officer, I must report to the Colonial Office. So I need to know what’s happened."

"I accept that, Charles. Earth needs to know. But equally I will not have my patient unnecessarily stressed. The earl will be here shortly to hear what happened. I'm sure he won't mind if you attend."

“Elizabeth, this impacts greatly on our relationship with the Findian powerbase. I need to know what happened as soon as possible, so we can modify our approach accordingly."

She turned and looked at him. "Charles, that will be taken care of when the new leader is appointed. It is not something you need concern yourself about.” She sighed. "I accept you are in a state of shock, Charles. You must be devastated about Heather and Jeannie."

“I am, of course, Elizabeth, but we must think about the Project. If Angus could just tell me -"

She glared at him. "You might be interested to know, Charles, that Angus has insisted that I stitch his wound without anaesthetic so that he can be clearheaded when he speaks to the earl. He is also suffering from protracted exposure. He has endured physical and mental trauma and I will not have that unnecessarily exacerbated. You can hear what happened when he relates it to the earl."

"Elizabeth, please listen to me -"

A rap at the door, Elizabeth called, “Come,” and Nurse Neima announced the earl.

He was a tall man, even for the Fiann, and broad, but with little sign of excess weight in spite of his fifty years. He barely acknowledged Charles’ presence, stood quiet while Neima fitted a mask and merely nodded when Elizabeth explained what she was doing. He fixed his attention on Angus.

He showed little emotion during the tale, even when Angus described how Keldric had tried to carry out his father’s orders, how he had fought and died, and his men with him. He listened to Angus’ tale of his escape over the mountains without comment. When Angus had finished, he stood up, gave a courteous nod, said, "We will speak of this again," and went out. Charles sprang up and hurried after him, trying to express sympathy for the loss of his son. Angus heard no response from the earl.

Elizabeth closed the door and said, "Now perhaps you will let me give you a sedative."

Angus gave her a wan smile. "I don't think I need one, Elizabeth. I haven't slept for about thirty hours.

“Angus, this is not the time to dwell on what happened, but I just want you to know that with Jeannie, you could have done nothing else. For Jeannie, it was the best way, the only way. I'm sorry about Heather and Agnes. They were friends and colleagues, dedicated, skilled and loved. Agnes was a leader without peer. I shall miss them, we shall all miss them. Enough now. Neima will take you to a room. You will have responsibilities heaped on you soon enough."

Angus shook his head. "I won't, Elizabeth. I will hold the leadership until a replacement is found, but I am resigning from the Colonial Service."

"Angus-"

"What has it all been for, Elizabeth? All my ambition, all my striving, what has brought me? I had a wife and a child. Now I have neither. I have nothing."

"Angus-"

"It's not self-pity – or, to be honest, not entirely self-pity. It’s recognition of the pointlessness of what I was doing. Ambition - for what? Success? No, I'm resigning."

"Angus, please. I understand your feelings. Please don't make any decisions now. And I would say just one thing. Fianna needs you. Now let me call Neima.”

Angus was awakened by voices outside his door.

"I am sorry, sir, but Dr Elizabeth left instructions that no one was to disturb the patient."

"Come, nurse, she obviously did not include me in that."

Angus opened his eyes. The lamps were lit and the curtains drawn. How long had he slept? A day? More? Elizabeth had given him some medicine and sedated him, that he could recall. He felt less shivery, but still weak.

"Sir, she said no one. She was quite clear on that."

"Nurse, it is essential that I speak to this man and as soon as possible."

"Sir, now is not possible. The patient has had a fever and is asleep. He is not in a fit state to see you or anyone." It was Neima’s voice.

"I will be the judge of that, nurse." Charles. What was he doing here?

"Sir, that is Dr Elizabeth's judgement. She was quite clear that the patient must not be disturbed."

"Nurse, do you know who I am?"

"Yes, sir, you are the communications officer.”

"No, nurse. Didn't you read that communiqué I sent around? I am now head director of the Terran mission on Fianna. That means that Dr Elizabeth takes orders from me. Now please stand aside."

What the hell was this? Charles? Head director? How could that be? But Neima was still determined to stop him.

"Sir, not in the hospital. Not in medical matters. Sir, Dr Elizabeth was adamant, she-"

“Nurse, will you stand aside, please.”

“Sir-”

She’ll get herself fired, thought Angus. Especially if Charles was now puffed up as the head director. He would not see her as a dedicated medical professional, just as someone resisting his wishes. And when that someone was as insignificant as a Fiann nurse ...

"Neima," he called, "I will see the communications officer. Please let him in."

The door opened, and Neima came in. "Sir, Dr Elizabeth said-"

Angus raised his hand and she stopped. "Nurse, I understand. I am grateful for your devotion to duty and for my well-being, but it is best if I see him now."

“You cannot, sir. You are recovering from severe illness. You should not even be sitting up."

Angus smiled at her. "Please, nurse Neima, it is best if you let him speak to me now."

She looked at him, looked at Charles, and her mouth became a thin line. She walked out, closing the door behind her.

Charles shook his head. "Some of these people don't know their place."

"Don't they? It's their world. Anyway, she certainly does: she's a first-class nurse. You wanted to see me, Charles, judging from what I heard outside?"

Charles cleared his throat. "You are probably unaware, as you have been under sedation for two days, that the Colonial Office on Earth have appointed me as the new head of the Project."

Angus stared at him. "I thought I heard you say something like that in the corridor outside, but concluded I must be hallucinating. Why would they make you head? I am second-in-command after Agnes."

"You are under investigation, Angus. There are serious questions over what happened at Fuill Rock and in the mountains."

"Explain."

"Do not talk to me in that tone of voice, Angus. I am your superior now."

Angus shook his head. "That beggars comprehension. Agnes had thirty years colonial world experience. You have three months, and in an administrative role. How could you conceivably replace her? Has the Colonial Office gone mad?”

“Choose your words more carefully, Angus. Grumbling about head office appointments is one thing, attempts to undermine the authority which employs you is another. The Colonial Office chose the best candidate available.”

“Charles, there is not a single experienced Project person on Fianna who could not to a better job than you. You’ve been an HQ administrator, a pen pusher, all your life. You’ve never led anything, done anything. Best candidate? How could you even be on the list?”

“The Minister will be very interested to hear that opinion, Angus.”

“Oh, I get it. Nepotism, the old school tie, jobs for the boys. The Minister for Colonial Affairs is your godfather, is he? But it’s more than that: you spun your little web, and waited. Then Fuill Rock happens, and you pounce.”

“You realise you are accusing your employer and the government of corruption, Angus? You would do well to bridle your wild tongue.”

Angus lay back and shut his eyes. “I don’t believe this. You wouldn’t be on Fianna if it weren’t for Heather and me. She asked for a post for you and I supported her, for Jeannie’s sake. We threw our weight behind you, and the first chance you get, you stab me in the back."

"You are already under investigation, Angus. You do not improve your chances of acquittal by insulting me."

"Yes, you said that. Why am I under investigation, Charles?"

"Many details of your so-called escape do not add up. I have spoken to several Findians, and they find it hard to believe that you managed to escape at all, and still harder that you then crossed those mountains. They do not believe that a Terran is capable of such feats. I find it hard to believe myself."

“So it is your work?”

“The need for an investigation has been confirmed by Earth.”

“Confirmation based on your recommendation. Earth is in no position to assess what happens here. Investigation of what? Putting aside the fact that I am here, which rather goes to prove that I did what I said, I have no doubt that the earl’s trackers are out verifying every detail of my story."

Charles shook his head. "That you are here proves nothing. The point is that the Project leader was killed and you stood to gain most by her death."

Angus stared at him. "Get out, Charles. Your grubby little mind revolts me. Just get out."

Charles leaned forward. “The days when you could order me around are gone, Angus. The boot is on the other foot now. Not only are you junior to me, you are no longer-”

The door opened and Elizabeth came in. "What is this? I gave instructions that Angus was not to be disturbed. He is not fit for questioning, Charles." As she spoke she crossed to Angus’s bed and took his wrist.

"I considered it necessary to acquaint Angus with the status quo, Elizabeth. Also, as director of the Project, I need to establish the truth of what happened at Fuill Rock and afterwards. Angus’s story is implausible, to put it mildly, and the earl will be discovering that right now. In order to have any hope of rebuilding our credibility, I must know the truth. And as you see, he is quite capable of answering questions."

"I see nothing of the kind. I see an exhausted patient being harried and being further traumatised. His heart is racing. I must ask you to leave, Charles."

"Elizabeth, take hold of yourself. Who do you think you're talking to! You forget your place. I am your director and your superior."

Red spots appeared on Elizabeth's cheeks. "It is you who forgets who you are talking to, Charles. Both with Angus and me. You question the word of a man whose probity is a watchword on three colonial planets. As regards me, your appointment, besides being interim only, is administrative. You hold no jurisdiction over me in medical matters. Please leave at once, and in future, ask me first if you wish to interview one of my patients."

Charles drew himself up. “Elizabeth-”

A tap sounded at the door, it swung open and Nurse Neima stood there, flanked by two large Fiann men.

“I have bought an escort, banmiddach."

"Thank you, Neima. I do not think we will need their services. Director Charles is just leaving."

Charles looked at the men, then at Elizabeth and said, "I’ll not forget this, Elizabeth."

"I certainly hope not, Charles. I don't want it happening again. Neima, please see to the patient. I will see the director out.”

Angus was sitting up drinking soup when she returned.

“I'm sorry that happened, Angus. He bullied his way past Neima."

Angus raised his hand. “He did. I heard it. He tried to ride roughshod over her, and she was fighting every inch of the way. It was only when I said that I would see him that she let him in, and then, I gather, she went straight to you. She has a lot of courage. But, Elizabeth, is it true? Has he really been appointed head director?”

“I’m afraid so. I couldn’t believe it either, and queried it with Earth. The appointment was confirmed. The Minister for Colonial Affairs requested it himself.”

“Nepotism. I thought so. Hell, do we have to learn the same lessons over and over? But Charles must have sprung into action very quickly."

"From the records, the first imail went off within a hour of your meeting with the earl.” She shook her head. “Most of us were still reeling in shock. You’d imagine Charles, having just lost wife and stepdaughter, would be more traumatised than anyone, but apparently not. More imails followed, and late yesterday afternoon he was appointed. Everyone was stunned, but Charles emphasized that it was just an interim appointment, and that everything would soon be back to normal. We accepted that, but from Charles’s attitude today, I am beginning to have doubts. He is too astute an operator to act in such an autocratic manner unless he had really solid backing from Earth. It must be that he prepared the ground some time ago. You must appeal, Angus. Suspending a person of your seniority and standing is without precedent, and cannot go unchallenged, no matter what he told them.”

He groaned. “I don’t have the stomach for a fight.”

“Not now, of course not. But when your strength has returned.”

He shook his head slowly. “Even then. Elizabeth, I want to get up to Treveri lodge, to be alone.”

“Angus, I know you hate having a fuss made of you, but I really would like to keep you in the hospital for a few days, just for observation. You have been through a terrible ordeal and are in a state of shock. Believe me, I know how you feel. No, I'm so sorry; obviously I don't know how you feel. I haven't been through the same trauma as you. But I know that if I were to lose Anne or Lea, the foundations of my world would crumble. Coming to terms with what has happened to you is not easy."

"Do I need to, Elizabeth? What is the point of going on?"

She stared at him. "Angus, please. Jeannie is gone, and irreplaceable, but never doubt that you are loved as well as highly respected.”

Angus looked away, to the window, and shook his head. He couldn’t trust himself to speak.

“Angus, you’ve already made that decision, at Fuill Rock. At the height of the trauma, with all the odds against you, you choose to go on. You freed yourself, you fled across the mountains with no food and water, no warm clothing … You have a powerful survival instinct, Angus. You cannot deny that."

"An instinct is all it is, Elizabeth. An innate, non-rational drive. Yes, that helped, but I came back to Findias because the Findians gave their lives for me. Giving up would have made their sacrifice worthless. I owed it to them to get back here and tell the earl how his son and his nephew, and his men died. Now that is done. Why should I go on? My daughter is dead, and at my hand. How can I live with that? It is too painful."

Elizabeth took his hands. "Angus, you must rationalize it, and keep rationalizing it until it sinks in. You had no alternative. You did the best thing for Jeannie, at terrible cost to yourself. As regards going on, Angus, I could say that you owe it to Fianna. I could say the Fiann gave their lives to you, so you should devote your life to Fianna. But we both know that is simplistic. All I will say is that the only obligation laid on you is that which you lay on yourself. You came to Fianna because you believed you could help the Fiann. And you have helped the Fiann and you can continue to help the Fiann. It's not a question of what you owe them, it's a question of what you owe yourself. I do understand that you want to be alone. If you stay here, we will leave you alone, though of course we are here if you need us. Treveri lodge,” and she shook her head. “Treveri is not safe for a lone occupant, Angus.”

“It’s safe enough for me. I’ll upgrade the palisade around it.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “An unmanned palisade is a defence against animals but not humans, Angus. What if the Baian attack again?”

“So close to Findias? They wouldn’t.”

Elizabeth sighed. “That’s what they thought about Fuill Rock. All right, I can see you are determined, but, please, don’t throw your life away. And you are not going until you are well.”


	7. Day 6  The earl returns

Three days later, Angus was sitting in the hospital roof garden, gazing up towards the Treveri hills. The mid-afternoon sun lit the hillside field terraces and the dark region of the forest behind. The paved track alongside the gorge which led up into the hills was hidden. Up there, two hours ride away, was the smithy he had set up in his first month on Fianna. He longed to be there, alone and hammering iron.

Behind him he heard a door open. He turned. Nurse Neima was standing there. “Goba Oenghus, a messenger has come from the earl. He has returned to the city and wishes to see you. If you please, come with me. I have set aside a meeting room for you."

Angus followed her. “I heard he returned yesterday, Neima.”

“He did, sir, late, and has spent this day in prayer.”

For prayer, Angus read solitude; probably grieving over his son. He wondered who would succeed to the leadership after earl Ceofrin. The two strongest contenders, Osric and Keldric, had been swept from the field in one action. The Findians must be reeling. Line of succession was often to a sister’s son, but the rule was fluid - the barons decided. He’d heard of another nephew, but rumour had it that the lad was a lightweight, more interested in girls, horses and hunting than statecraft. Still, it might be many years away. But, as Fuill Rock had just shown, it might not.

Charles was there, sitting at the head of the table. Nurse Neima’s lips tightened when she saw him, but she made no comment, ushering Angus in, then leaving, closing the door behind her.

"I intend to sit in on this meeting, Angus.” Charles glared at Angus. “I wish to see firsthand the earl’s response to your story. You know, if he sees through that farfetched tale of fighting savages and escaping over the mountains, you will have destroyed our credibility for ever, and we might as well go home."

Angus stared at him, then shook his head. "You are a piece of work, Charles. Your wife is dead, your stepdaughter is dead, and all you can bring yourself to do is to attack me. Jeannie was just an encumbrance to you, I know, but don't you feel anything for Heather?"

"I hold you responsible for their deaths. You persuaded us to send the deputation to Gorias, you asked Heather to look for some stupid sewage rock. It was your fault she was out there. And I will come to that. But first, what in heaven’s name were you doing placing the blame for the Baian attack on the Terrans?"

Angus stared at him. What convoluted thought process was this? "What are you talking about?"

Charles frowned. "You told the earl that the Baian attacked both patrols because they had Terrans with them. Firstly that was a totally irresponsible thing to say without consulting me or the others, and secondly, I fail to understand how you could conclude such a thing, considering your lack of fluency in the local languages. They were gabbling away to each other, and from that you conclude that the attack was our fault.”

Angus put his head in his hands. This had so much wrong with it that he didn't know where to start.

Charles snorted. "I'm glad to see that at least you appreciate the enormity of what you've done. The earl will hold us responsible for the death of his son, by your admission. You have put the whole Terran Project on Fianna in jeopardy by your foolish and impulsive comments."

Angus shook his head. "Charles, why do you think the Baian attacked the parties?”

“How would I know, I wasn’t there.”

“Do you think it was a random attack?”

“It could have been.”

“Why do you think the earl moved us from Treveri Lodge into Findias?”

“Because it is dangerous up there! Mountain lion, entelodont, hyaenodon, wild hunting animals! Not just the Baian.”

“No, Charles, just the Baian. The earl knew about the animals when he put us there. The Baian were the new threat.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Everyone who was based up there knew it. Charles, the Baian have been a nuisance to Findias for half a century, making irritating little raids, stealing livestock, burning barns, but nothing to warrant a serious retaliation. Then we arrive, out of the sky, bringing new ideas, innovation, setting huge changes in motion. They see us as a demonic force, an existential threat to everything they believe in. They make their feelings so clear the earl makes us move Project headquarters from Treveri Lodge into Findias, for our safety. Then an opportunity to strike at this threat presents itself, and the Baian take it. They take it even though they know that Findian honour demands our Findian escort defend us to the death. They take it even though they know that killing the Earl’s son and nephew will bring down retribution the like of which they’ve never seen before. And why? Because striking at the Terran threat is more important than anything else. Why do you think they drove iron nails into the women’s bodies? Why do you think the druids tried to persuade the Findians to give up Jeannie and me?”

“That’s all speculation. You’re taking random factors and presenting them as evidence. The point is that you don’t know it was because of us, you can’t prove it was because of us. And neither can the earl. But you claimed, wildly and foolishly, it was because of us, to the earl’s face.”

“Because it’s blindingly obvious, Charles, to anyone with an iota of knowledge about the situation here. Secondly, it’s not a blame game. You jump from cause to blame, and assume the earl will do the same. He won’t; it would never cross his mind. You just don't get it, do you. Over three months you’ve been here, and you’re ignorant of their culture as the day you arrived. This is not Earth where all that matters is whether you can lay the blame on someone else, where truth, and right and wrong are just words to be twisted to suit the circumstances and the case you are trying to prove.”

Charles threw up his hands. "Please don't start on all that rubbish about honour and the heroic culture, Angus. This is the real world. People are the same everywhere. Only naive romantics like you don't seem to realise it. So of course the earl will blame us, and you have considerably worsened our defence. Which brings me back to the first point: the earl rode out with two hundred men within an hour of leaving here. If he finds you have been lying, the Terran mission is finished. Everything we’ve achieved will be worthless.”

Was there any point in arguing with this man? His ignorance, his prejudices, his limited outlook: he was incapable of seeing any view but his own.

"Yes, you may have scuttled the Project, Angus. Both because you have shot your mouth off once too often, and because your ridiculous-”

They didn’t have time for this. Angus held up his hand. "Charles, does the earl know you are going to be here? Because I had the impression he wanted to see just me. I don’t think he regards this as a Project matter."

Charles leaned forward. "Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you. That would really fit in with your plans, to bypass me and deal to the earl direct. No, Angus. I am your superior, and I will attend this meeting."

Angus stared at him. What was this now? First he makes ludicrous accusations, then he sees a plot to supplant him? "Charles, I don’t give a tinker’s cuss whether you stay or not. But the earl might be, and if he chases the director of the Terran Project out, it won't do our prestige much good."

"Angus, the damage you have already done to our prestige is irreparable. If I had my way-"

A sharp rap at the door announced the arrival of the earl. The door opened and he stepped inside, followed by a white haired druid. The earl stopped when he saw Charles. "Director Charles, I wish to see Goba Oenghus Ironmaster on a personal matter. Perhaps my request was not clearly conveyed. But be that as it may, I wish to see him alone."

Charles stood up and bowed. "As always, my lord earl, it is our pleasure to assist in whatever way we can." He walked out without looking at Angus.

"My lord," said Angus, "please be seated, and your companion. You wished to see me."

The earl sat down and looked at him. "I do. This is father Corvi. Let me first my offer my condolences on the loss of your daughter. It is a heavy blow for a father to lose a child, especially one so young and innocent."

Angus bowed his head. "Thank you, my lord. You too have suffered that heavy blow, and I deeply regret my part in that."

"Your part was both unwitting and blameless. What - are you responsible for the fanaticism of the Baian? No, if any blame is due, it attaches to me. I undertook to protect you and yours. I was able to do neither."

"My lord, I hold you as innocent as you hold me. The price you paid in attempting to protect me and mine is testimony to both your innocence and the gravity with which you undertook that responsibility. It is a price I would wish on no man. It was lord Keldric's opinion, my lord, that we, that you were betrayed by someone in the city."

“That is my opinion also, and I shall be seeking my betrayer."

The earl's face was bleak. He would not like to be the betrayer of the ruler of Findias, thought Angus. Justice on Findias was medieval. Swift, implacable, violent.

The earl’s expression did not change as he said, “I wished to see you about your tale. You did not tell me all that happened.”

What was this? An accusation of lying? Was he to be the first victim of this justice? But before Angus could reply, the earl went on. “You did not tell me, Ironrod, that you offered yourself to save your Fiann escort, both before and after your daughter’s spirit had departed. You did not tell me that my son called you sword-brother as you stood with him and his men. You did not tell me that you yourself killed three Baian."

Angus stared at him. Yes, Keldric had called him sword-brother. He’d also called him Ironrod. How could the earl know that? More, it was the way a high status warrior was addressed. And how did the earl find out he had killed anyone, anyway? "My lord, I did not know that I had killed three men. Two fell before me, but I cannot take credit. Lord Keldric was on one side of me and swordmaster Duwald on the other, and they were defending me as well as themselves.”

“I heard that you fought ferociously. More, wildly. You fought like a Norse berserker."

Angus looked down. "My lord, I will admit that I was seeking death. It is thanks to my Findian brothers, if I may be so bold, that I did not achieve my aim,

“From what I heard and seen of your honour and courage, your deeds in battle and your flight over Uabhal Mor, few Findians would deny you that tribute, Ironrod.”

Angus shook his head. “Lord, my battle skills are abysmal. If I fought with ferocity, it was certainly without skill.”

The earl nodded. “Yes, it was said that you wielded the sword like one beating a rug, yet you brought down skilled Baian fighters.”

“Lord, any Baian that I managed to kill was by good luck and the help of others.”

“Modesty is a good, though unusual, trait in a warrior.”

Angus spread his hands. “In all honesty, lord, I wish it was modesty. But it is simply the truth. I am no warrior. I have some strength but no skill. All I can take credit for in this sad business is running away.”

“That alone is no small achievement.” He leant back. “Father Corvi has some questions for you on that matter.” He turned to the druid and gestured towards Angus. “Uncle.”

Immediately Angus saw the blood relationship: the druid had the same forehead, the same grey eyes as the earl – and Keldric.

The druid’s eyes had never left Angus’ face since he had sat down. Now he said, “Ironmaster, relate to me, if you will, everything that happened after you reached the Rock.”

When Angus had finished, the druid said, "I have some questions, Ironmaster, on what you have just told us. You said that in the battle with the Baian, the bird attacked the axeman. Why was that?"

"I don't know, father. I know nothing of falconry, but I do know that birds, intelligent birds like predators, develop affection for their owners. I would assume that the bird Marag had done so, and thus attacked the man it saw attacking him."

The druid nodded. "You say you freed yourself by rubbing the cords against a nail driven into the rock. This must have been very difficult."

"Difficult and painful." Angus held up his hands to show the inside of his wrists. The abrasion wounds were heavily scabbed.

The druid raised his eyebrows, then nodded. “Once you were free, your escape must have taken great presence of mind. You had to watch for the Baian guards, move bodies to and fro, hide yourself, and finally cross the Flat of Fuill in sight of the Baian encampment.”

"Some presence of mind and some luck," said Angus. “The Rock lay between us and the guards came infrequently. Similarly the Rock hid me as I crawled to the trees. For the rest, I believed that the Baians’ eyes would be adjusted to the bright firelight, not the duller moonlight, and so would miss me when I crawled across their line of sight."

"On Staca Mor, you found the track of a mountain lion, but the lion did not find you. How came that to be?”

"I wondered that myself, father. I’m no expert on feline predators, but I know they have a very acute sense of smell. The lion should have been able to pick up my scent from my tracks. The only explanation I can think of is that the sleet from the waterfall which filled my tracks was so polluted by the smell of mud and rotting flesh that it obscured the smell of my passing. Also, the wind was blowing from the creature to me, so it could not pick up my scent."

“You did not consider that the tracks you followed might lead you to its lair?”

“Master tracker Astin said that the lands up there were uninhabited, so I thought it very unlikely that a predator would choose such a precarious place for a lair. On the other hand, there would be far more wildlife for hunting in the Beinn nam Bodach and it was likewise shunned by people.”

“So you followed it down the Staca Wall.”

“Yes. Seeing those tracks was amazing luck, though I didn’t think so at the time. If it hadn’t crossed my path, I would never have got down the Wall, and the Baian trackers would have caught me.”

"You passed through the Beinn nam Bodach. You are not afraid of the bodachim?

“Father, I do not believe in spirits that walk among us.”

“And the mountain lion?”

Angus smiled. “I believed in the mountain lion and feared it mightily, especially when I was following it in the cleft down the Wall. If it had scented me, either there or in the foothills I would not be here today. Fortunately I was behind it and upwind. The Baian druid was not, so he became its prey.”

"And finally, Ironmaster, you managed to bring down a horse and rider on the Plain of Findias.”

"That was good luck. I actually threw the cloth at the horse's head, but missed. And got ripped up for my pains."

“I would like to see that wound.”

After five days, the healing was well underway, and Neima had replaced the swathing with a single layer bandage holding the protective pad in place. Angus pulled it back to expose the tear. The skin, he knew, was red, and dark from bruising. “I was lucky not to have a shattered cheekbone. All in all I got off very lightly.”

The druid nodded and sat back.

“You are satisfied, uncle?” said the earl.

“I am satisfied, lord.”

"There are those that say, Ironrod," said the earl, "that you are a witch, that you have power over animals, and make them your familiars. That you were able to escape from the Baian, to climb the Uabhal Mor, to cross Staca Chiore, to descend the Staca Wall and pass through the Beinn nam Bodach, all at night and without sustenance, causes men to shake their heads. My trackers, following your route, say it would be difficult for a Fiann not experienced in mountain travel, and would doubt it were possible for a Terran had they not followed your trail themselves. Of course, they did not descend far down Wall or pass though the haunted hills. Father Corvi went from this side, with other trackers.”

Angus spread his hands. “What can I say, lord? On Earth I went hiking in the mountains, so learnt to navigate in that terrain. I also ran for fitness, long-distance running, so built up stamina and endurance. I have no witchcraft but I had a great deal of luck. At times I was desperate and despairing, but I knew if I stopped I would probably die. So I just kept going. Any other man might have done the same, given my experience and the luck I had.”

The earl shook his head. "No. Perhaps part of your flight, yes. But the battle, the escape, the flight: all together, they tell of abilities which Fianns hold high. My son saw with deep eyes when he made you his sword-brother.

“Also, you have given the Baian something to think about, Ironrod. They will not view Terrans in the same light as before. That you fought like a warrior of Fianna makes men, all men including Baian, respect you. That you escaped them also earns their respect. But, far more, they did not discover that you had placed the bodies of the Terran ladies and your child in the warrior mound. They believed that you had spirited them away. And when they heard the horn call from the haunted hills, and went there to investigate, and found nothing but a bloody robe, again they believed that you had the help of dark forces. So they believe that you are a powerful witch, and that will make them more cautious. Of course, hunting them for a hundred miles beyond Findias, as we are now doing, will also make them more cautious. But as regards witchcraft, I think Father Corvi is satisfied that it was human endeavour and good luck, and nothing else.

“You may wonder, Ironrod, how I know what the Baian are thinking, and how they regard you. Of those you encountered, fifty now sit beside their fathers. Some were questioned and told us what I have told you. We still hunt in the mountains. Of the druids, two are accounted for, one by you, one by us.”

“The chief druid? The philosopher?”

“Yes. He told us much, and did not fear his approaching death. But why do you call him that?”

“He said, ‘Fhàgail fhéin aig gach neach’ to me. But the fates decided otherwise from what seemed laid out before us then. He died and I lived.”

“The fates decide,” said father Corvi. He paused, looking at Angus intently. “You speak this tongue?”

“Very poorly, father, but I can understand it.”

“You spoke it on Earth?”

“No, father. I began learning it before coming to Fianna and have continued learning while I have been here.”

The druid stared him, then nodded slowly. “Perhaps that is why the fates spared you and took him. Because you respect this land and seek to do good here.”

Angus bowed his head. Thank you, father. That is my aim, the aim of the Terran Project.”

“Your brothers do not think as you do, uncle,” said the earl.

“The Findian brotherhood does not strike against the Terrans, lord,” said the druid.

“Yet someone betrayed us to the Baian druids, uncle.”

“Lord, we do not and will not harbour those who would harm Findias. If you were betrayed by a Findian brother, we will find him and deal with him in our own way.”

“Good,” but then the earl frowned. “The bandraoi is not to be ‘dealt with’, uncle. If found she is to be brought to me.”

“She had not yet left the noviciate. Yes, if we find her we will bring her to you, lord.”

The earl turned to Angus. “We do not kill women in Findias, Ironrod. Now I wish to put you on your guard. The Baian do not like being baulked of their prey. They will try to seek you out. They cannot use direct force, as at Fuill Rock, so they will use assassins. My guards watch at the city gates, but for one man to slip through is easy. You must be vigilant, Ironrod, especially if you go to Treveri.”

How did the earl know he planned to go to Treveri lodge? Angus bowed his head. “Lord, I will be vigilant. I shall not go to Treveri until my face has healed. But when I do, it shall be on my head, lord.”

The earl nodded again. “The gods have tried you, Ironrod, and you have not been found wanting. Your trials may not yet be over. Do not let your plight weaken your resolve. Stay true to your beliefs. Darkness grows until dawn breaks. It may be that our paths go asunder from now, so I wish you well on your journey, Ironrod."

The door had barely closed behind the earl when it opened again, to admit Charles.

He sat down, glared and said, "Well?"

Angus looked at him. "Well, what? What do you want to ask me, Charles?"

"You know that very well, Angus. What did the earl say to you?"

"Yes, I do. But I was expecting a proper request, not a perfunctory demand."

"The exact words, if you please."

"Sorry, Charles, it was a private conversation. What I can tell you is that the earl does not hold me or any Terran responsible for the massacre."

Charles frowned." That's not good enough, Angus. I told you I want to know his exact words."

"I see. No matter that the earl told you it was a private matter. No matter that the earl expects it to be kept private. No matter if it destroys the earl’s confidence in me as a representative of the Terrans. No matter if it shows Terrans cannot be trusted keep their mouths shut. No matter that I have already told you that the earl does not hold us liable in any way. All that matters is that you should get your way."

"Angus, you do not represent the Terrans and never will. The earl's opinion of you is irrelevant. Ten to one you will never meet him again. I expect to have dealings with him frequently. I need to know what he said so that I can adjust my approach accordingly."

Angus lay back in his chair and closed his eyes. An hour with the earl and now Charles’s petty paranoia. He felt exhausted.

“Angus, I’m waiting!”

Without opening his eyes, Angus said, "What he said, Charles, was that he considered the Baian responsible for what happened. He said he regrets the deaths of the Terrans."

"He was here for over an hour. Clearly he said much more than that."

“I went over the story again for the druid, then he questioned me. The Baian regard us as witches, as you probably don’t know. I satisfied him that I did not escape by witchcraft."

"I am not interested in the druid. For how long was the earl himself speaking to you?"

"I suppose half an hour."

"And you refuse to tell me in detail what he said."

"I have told you in essence what he said, Charles. Now for hell’s sake leave me alone."

Charles stood up. "Very well. You leave me no choice. I am suspending you from duty, Angus, for a wilful refusal of cooperation and for attempting to undermine the Project.”


	8. Day 15   The No Confidence debate

Elizabeth tapped a gavel on the table, and the council chamber stilled.

“You all know why we are here, but for the purpose of the records: the director of engineering, recently suspended from duty, has proposed a motion of no confidence in the director of communications, recently appointed as leader of the Terran Project on Fianna. Angus will speak to support the motion and Charles will speak against the motion. Angus, please proceed.”

Angus stood up. “First let me say there is nothing personal in this. Obviously there are issues between Charles and me, but my concern in this is for the success of the Project. My objection to Charles’s appointment is his lack of experience. No one with only four months field experience in what was anyway an administrative role is capable of taking over the control of the Fianna Project, with all that that implies. Leadership is not simply following a set of rules or guidelines. Anyone with colonial planet experience knows the fine balance that must be achieved to drive the Project forward. A thorough knowledge of the culture, awareness and keeping abreast of local affairs and local opinion, assessing Project impact and the changes to local attitudes, negotiating with the local leader, knowing when to push and when to give way, and in which fields. These are skills which can only be learnt in the field. It is not something one can learn from a book, or sitting behind a desk on Earth. A Project leader with less than ten years in the field has never been appointed since the first projects. In those days we learned the hard way what could and could not be changed, and how. You juniors,” he swept his arm out across the chamber, indicating the young men and women on their first tour of duty, “you will have been writing essays on this nine months ago in your training. How we blundered, offending cultural mores and local rulers. How we learned to rein in our idealism and concentrate on what could be achieved. We know better now, far better, what works and what doesn’t, but still within those parameters, it is judgement that matters and judgement comes only with experience.

“Agnes had thirty years experience and is irreplaceable, but we do have senior colonial service members with the field experience to take over her role. The risk to the Project is too great for the leadership to be left in untried hands. It may be that Charles has the ability to learn, but not at the expense of the Fiann.” He sat down.

Charles did not stand. From his seat he said, “Thank you, Angus. I wondered how you were going to rationalise your antagonism. Of course, no one would question your objectivity. No one would think it remotely likely that you resent the fact that I was able to be to Heather what you couldn’t, a faithful husband providing a fulfilling relationship. No one would consider it possible that you object to my promotion because you yourself would have held the position otherwise. No one would dream that you blame me and are in any way upset because you were suspended from your directorship following my factual report to Earth. No, these factors have not influenced you at all. Saint Angus is motivated solely by concern for the Fiann. Who could doubt it?

“But let me look at the flimsy curtain you hang in front of this seething vindictiveness. My experience. I agree with what you say: no one without experience can lead a Project effectively. But I have experience: fifteen years in control posts, assessing progress, advising on policy and procedure, reporting on Project success and failure. This last experience puts me in a unique position: I have been able to analyse both success and failure, and find the causes of both. Better than any one Project leader, I know what works and what doesn’t. For Angus to argue I lack experience is ridiculous. He has the experience of three or four planets. I have the distilled experience of thirty.

“I acknowledge that Agnes had experience, but even she made mistakes. Given the known animosity felt by the Baian, it was imprudent to undertake that journey. I expressed this reservation in the council meeting before the mission to Gorias. As leader, I would not have allowed that undertaking and we would not be in this sad situation now.”

Three directors in the front row stood up, demanding attention, but Elizabeth, shook her head and pointed to Angus.

Angus leant forward. “Charles, Agnes had a record of success unmatched in the colonial service. Statues of her stand in the squares of fifteen cities on five planets. And you, from the towering heights of your fifteen years behind a desk on Earth, say she made mistakes. Charles, you are not fit to lick Agnes’s boots.” He took a deep breath. “But your comment perfectly illustrates my point on your unsuitability. Given the invitation by the Count of Gorias’s nephew, it was absolutely the right time to make the approach. Caution, as you think would have been best, would have meant the opportunity was lost. Apart from anything else, the count would have been insulted by a refusal and would not have asked us again. And to say it was imprudent to undertake the trip is ridiculous. If the attack by the Baian was not predictable by the earl, what chance did we have? The earl believed the Baian were over a hundred miles away.”

Charles slouched back in his chair and laughed. “I will not lower myself by responding to Angus’s insulting comments. I think I have made all the points I need to at this stage and would like to give way to my young friend Brian. Before you jump up and declare he is not entitled to speak, dear Elizabeth, let me advise you that he is our new director of communications.”

Elizabeth stared at him. “On what grounds? Directorships are made in consultation with the committee of Project directors, and ratified by Earth, except in emergencies.”

“Well, I am impressed by your knowledge of the rules and regulations, Elizabeth, and you will be glad to know they have been fulfilled. Earth confirmed my emergency powers and the appointment last night. So I give the floor to Brian.” He gestured to a young thickset man with blond hair.

He stood up, gave a courteous nod to Elizabeth, and turned to Angus. “My question is this: how did you escape from the Baian at Fuill Rock?”

“That is not relevant to this debate,” said Elizabeth.

“Oh but it is, Elizabeth,” said Charles. “Everyone knows that Angus’s motion is based on my suspending him, which is based on his conduct at Fuill Rock and afterwards. So let him defend himself on that matter, and justify that conduct.”

“No,” said Elizabeth, but Angus said, “It’s not directly relevant, Elizabeth, but it does have a bearing. I am aware of rumours and innuendo floating around, and would like to settle it once and for all. Perhaps Brian would like to clarify his question.”

Brian glowered at him. “My question is just that. How did you escape when everyone else died?”

“But you know the story of my escape, Brian. Everyone does. There’s no point in me relating it again.”

“Your story leaves questions to be answered.”

“Fine. What are those questions, Brian? Do you think I cut a deal with the Baian, or do you believe I planned the whole thing in advance, forewarning the Baian and betraying everyone? Do you believe that I arranged the slaughter of two Findian patrols, the earl’s son, the earl’s nephew, Agnes and Heather, and the killing of my own daughter?”

“No, no, of course I don’t believe that. It’s just that… it’s just that the Findians themselves don’t believe that you could have escaped over the mountains like you say you did.”

“Brian, you know that the Findians, in the persons of the earl and his trackers, accept that I did do it. Immediately on hearing my report, the earl set out with his guard and his trackers. He captured Baian and interrogated them. His trackers followed my route across the mountains. Then he came back and questioned me again. He believed me.”

“We only have your word for that,” said Charles. “No one else was there when he questioned you the second time.”

“Yes, he asked you to leave, Charles. He felt that the death of his only son was a private matter.” He turned to Brian. “If the earl believed I caused the death of his son, do you seriously think I would be standing here. I’d be dead, Brian, tortured and dead.”

“You have diplomatic immunity.”

Angus smiled. “This is a heroic society, Brian. You must have learnt about them in college. If the earl’s barons believed he did not revenge himself on the killer of his son because of some protocol, he wouldn’t last five minutes.”

“But what you claim to have done! People say it’s not physically possible!”

“Brian, have you ever run a marathon, or hiked a long distance trail in the mountains?”

“No. What’s that got to do with it?”

“Everything. I used to do both, as a student back on Earth. You learn the skills of navigation and so on, but most of all you learn endurance, the physical and mental ability to keep going. Once you have that, it stays with you. I didn’t set out to kill my daughter, Brian, and I didn’t cut a deal with religious fanatics. I survived the battle because the Baian wanted me alive, to sacrifice later. I escaped and they pursued me. They almost got me. With some judgement, some skill, some endurance and a lot of luck, I got away. We here don’t have the resources to check my story. The earl does, and has done so.”

“You blithely dismiss the matter of diplomatic immunity,” said Charles, “but it is a vital factor. Another vital point is that they do not deny that Agnes and Heather were killed by the Fiann commander. If the earl accused us of conspiring to kill his son, we could accuse him of killing Terrans.”

Angus shook his head. “This is exactly the sort of narrow, shallow, tortuous legalistic thinking I would expect from a headquarters’ administrator and it exemplifies why you should not lead the Project. It shows a deep ignorance of the type of culture and the character of the leader we are dealing with. Osric killed them to save them from torture. It was an act of honour. Honour is paramount in the culture, and honour would demand action if the earl and his nobles believed I was party in any way to the killing of any Findians, let alone his son.”

“It is you who are displaying ignorance, Angus. You go on about Findian honour yet say that the earl would not honour diplomatic immunity.

“Of course he would, for the sort of events or infringements both parties had in mind. But killing of Findians? No ruler could countenance that and expect to retain the support of his people. But let’s put it to the proof: you have based my suspension on these ‘questions to be answered’. You believe, so you say, that the earl does not accuse me because of diplomatic immunity. Charles, I don’t want diplomatic immunity. I want to stand trial in the earl’s court. Then, if the earl acquits me, you will lift the suspension.”

“Oh, very clever, Angus. You know very well I cannot lift diplomatic immunity for one individual. That would create a precedent, and that is unacceptable.”

Angus shook his head. “There already is a precedent. Diplomatic immunity was waived on Toba.”

“That was an exceptional case: the place was descending into civil war. And in fact the Project on Toba was exceptionally badly handled, particularly at that time.”

Angus leant forward. “Our people died on Toba, Charles. While you were sitting safely in your office on Earth, we were out there, trying to hold it together with the fires raging around us, fighting for survival. Glenda died there. Friends and colleagues that many of us here knew, died on Toba. So don’t come with your shitty little armchair analysis, Charles, unless you really want to get backs up. When you have lived through the eye of a hurricane, then you can make comments.

“Which brings us back to our problem here. You have shown your unsuitability for the leadership time and again in this meeting. Your inexperience, your poor understanding of the culture we have here, your inability to grasp the overall picture. You suspended me because of so-called questions, questions which exist only in the minds of you and your hangers-on, questions which exist only because you refuse to accept what is accepted by everyone else. But the real reason is that if you lift my suspension, you will no longer be leader.”

Charles sat back and laughed. “Wonderful, Angus. What an outburst, what a demonstration of lack of control and of a poisoned, vindictive little mind. And you want to be our leader? An outburst like that to the earl and we’ll all be swinging from the battlements.”

Angus shook his head. “Actually, I don’t want to be leader. I will hold it if I am asked to, but only until someone else can take it over.”

Charles smiled. “That must be one of the oldest clichés in the book, Angus. You don’t want to but will be leader if you are asked. Is that the best you can come up with? But our chairperson has indulged Angus long enough. Let’s cut to the chase.” He leant forward. “I was appointed by the Minister for Colonial Affairs himself. Subsequently he has made his support clear and strong. If you vote me out, you spit in the minister’s face and you can say bye-bye to your careers.”

“Is that the reason we should vote against the motion, Charles?” said Elizabeth.

He looked around. The faces were stony. “Apparently not. Very well.” He took a sheet of paper from his inside pocket and read from it. “By the power vested in me as leader of the Terran Project on Fianna, I hereby appoint the following persons as deputy directors.” He read out a list of names. “And before you say I can’t, Elizabeth, let me repeat that my emergency powers have been confirmed by the colonial office.”

“Those powers are flexible to allow for changes in circumstances on the colonial planet. They are not intended to allow manipulation of personnel to further personal ambition at the expense of the Project.”

“They, like everything else we do here, are intended to allow the Project to continue to benefit the people it is meant to serve. And that is what I have done, Elizabeth.”

“We’ll see what Earth says about that.”

“We already have, Elizabeth. My powers are confirmed by the minister himself.” In the silence that followed he turned to Angus and said, “Now have your no confidence vote.”

Angus looked from face to face of the young men and women. Then he said quietly, “I see you are all young, and on your first Project. Fianna is a good posting and you will have gained good experience so far. But you have been tempted, and too greatly. Deputy directorships! Do you really think your experience justifies your promotion? From raw trainee to deputy director in three months? Above others who have been in the field for ten years or more? I could record your naïvety by demanding a vote. Charles would win, and your names would go down as having supported him. Those names would stay in the records, and be a blot on your careers. For do you think the Fianna Project will succeed under Charles? You have seen Agnes and her methods, and now Charles, here today, has shown his methods. How do they compare?”

“Charles will fall, of that there is no doubt. If his lack of experience did not guarantee it, his character would. Charles is a politician. He believes that what matters is presentation and scoring points. And on that he will fall, for what matters here is performance, getting things done. Under Charles’s leadership, the Fianna Project will falter, then fail. And when Charles falls, those supporting him fall also. Think on that.” He turned to Charles. “I withdraw the motion.”

“I am sorry to hear it. I would like to have it on record how soundly your pathetic animosity was defeated. Naïve? Yes indeed, but on your part only. All these young men and women have shown great potential, and I have promoted them on that basis. We will move forward on a wave of youth, and new and exciting ideas.”

“Charles, please. This is Fianna. We are not advertising soap powder to mid-20th century housewives.”

“No, we are selling progress to an iron age culture. Medicine and health care that actually heals, freedom from disease, clean, running water, sewers, agriculture which will triple yield … and you say I will fail? You and your methods are so hidebound, Angus. You will see.”

Elizabeth stood up. “Not in medicine or health care. I am not sacrificing Fiann lives to your student naivety, or playing your sordid little games, Charles. I will imail Earth about this,” and she walked out.

“I think I may close the hospital,” said Charles, softly.

“Do that, Charles,” said Angus, “and we may as well shut up shop and call for the ship to pick us up. Medicine is our showcase, the one department which shows instant results. You can shut down Public Health or even Education, and the Fiann might not notice, for the benefits come only in the long term. You cannot shut down Medicine. Besides I doubt that you’d be able to. All the medical staff, Terran and Fiann, are totally loyal to Elizabeth. Which is why, I imagine, you have no new medical deputies: no one would stand. No one from Engineering either, I see.”

“Why should sewers need direct representation to the earl and his council?”

“Because we need to ask him before we dig up his main thoroughfares to lay pipes, Charles. But … are you saying that your new deputy directors will be dealing with the earl directly?”

Charles sighed. “Of course not, Angus. I will be dealing with the earl. But at the next level down, implementing and planning, dealing with the earl’s minions, they will handle all of that.”

“And the current directors?”

“They will become consultants.”

“So everyone who would have opposed you has become sidelined? And you accuse me of vindictiveness?”

“Consultancy is not a sideline.”

“Consultancy is intended for use when a director becomes physically incapacitated, and so unable to carry out his or her job. These men and women are experienced practitioners in their prime. Besides that, the earl’s minions, as you call them, are his barons, some of them. Others are men and women who have been doing their jobs for fifty years. You think they are going to respect a bunch of kids?”

“Kids?” He turned to the floor. “You hear that? That is his true opinion of you. Angus, these young men and women are the crème de la crème. They have met the exacting standards of the Colonial Service and have been trained rigorously in their respective fields. I have no doubt that the two young men working under you in public health know more about the subject than you do.”

Angus smiled. “They know more about modern methods than I do, and I respect that knowledge and am happy to draw on it. Similarly I trust they respect my knowledge and experience. But my comment refers not to how I perceive them, but how they will be perceived by the Fiann. To them, age means wisdom, youth means the opposite: not folly, but untempered by life and experience; untried, impetuous, risk-taking. That is embedded in Fiann culture and no amount of clever presentation will overcome it.”

“First you insult your young colleagues, then you say you didn’t mean it.” Charles shook his head. “But let us not get distracted by your excuses. The answer to your question is that the Fiann will accept it because they have no choice. If they want our help, they must accept our terms.”

Angus stared at him. “Fifteen years in admin on Earth hasn’t taught you much, Charles. The Fiann do not have to accept our terms and will not accept our terms if they don’t like them. Our success so far is based on the trust and respect that Agnes and the current team have engendered. Trust that we have their best interest at heart, and respect that the purveyor of the knowledge knows what he or she is talking about. Conveying this takes years of experience and your lot just don’t have it.”

“Then they will just have to suffer.”

“They will. The Fiann will suffer for the failure of Terran leadership.”

Charles stood up. “I’m sick of listening to you. I’m suspending you from duty permanently and confining you to the lodge at Treveri. You stand accused of gross negligence resulting in the deaths of the Project leader, my wife, unlawful killing of your daughter, withholding of important information vital to the Project, a wilful refusal of cooperation and repeatedly trying to undermine the Project. The replies you gave to Brian on your so-called ‘escape’ are far from satisfactory and you may also consider yourself under investigation for the suspicious circumstances under which the deaths at Fuill Rock occurred.”


	9. Early Autumn:   The Terran Project

Autumn, and Angus had been out of Findias for two months. Two months since Charles had cheated his colleagues, entrenched his postion, sidelined everyone who had opposed him, suspended Angus from duty and banished him from the city. Angus had been prepared to fight on, but Elizabeth had said, No, he’d done enough, they’d all done enough, and that continuing conflict within the Terran camp would do more harm to Findias and the Project relationship with the earl than what was to come. They must wait for the consequences of Charles’s leadership to show. Only then would they be able to show Earth the folly of appointing such a little man to the leadership.

Angus had been relieved. He stood to gain nothing that he desired and had no stomach for conflict. He wanted nothing more than to be allowed to go away into a dark cave and lick his wounds. He’d gone to Treveri lodge, fired up the forge, and asked to be left alone. His colleagues had respected his wishes. Elizabeth had visited three times to check the healing of his cheek, but had not mentioned the Project and its progress.

For Angus it had been two months coming to terms with what had happened, two months to comprehend what he’d done, what his life had come to. The pain was not as sharp now. At first he had been unable to grasp it, and just stumbled bewildered from day to day. Desolation followed. He was alone; what was the point in going on; who would care if he did not? The emptiness filled him. Elizabeth’s visits helped; her warmth, her listening, her quiet sympathy, but it was his work that held him together.

An order had come, a big order, for a high ornamental wrought iron fence and gates. It was from a Fiann baron, Crimthann of Tolosa. Angus had never met or even heard of this lord or his holding, and the foreman of the foundry that delivered his pigiron told him that Crimthann had large landholdings far to the north-east, disliked cities and visited Findias under sufferance. He was the husband of the lady Fedhelm, the sister of the earl and so, Angus realized, the father of Osric. So the parents of the young captain who had been killed defending Terrans were ordering ironwork from a Terran blacksmith. Why? Whatever the reason, it suggested they felt no resentment towards him or his colleagues. Angus was grateful for that and even more grateful for the work.

Charles, unwittingly, helped him more than any one. A blacksmith could labour himself into exhaustion and forgetfulness far more easily than a sector director. Day after day Angus would hammer hot iron until he was too tired to think. Two months had blunted the pain, but still he thought about Jeannie, every hour of every day. Heather too, but at least his grief there was not racked with such guilt.

Old Sanma kept house for him, and kept silent also. She had been driven from her home in the slums of the nomads’ quarter when cholera had broken out and all her neighbours had died. Accused of witchcraft and a childless widow, she’d had no one to protect her, and had fled. Angus had found her trudging up the track to the Telemon, a huddled bundle of rags, walking into exile. Exile and death, for no one survived a crossing of the Telemon Plain on foot and alone. It was alive with predators. Sanma knew what it was to suffer, and knew too that time alone would help. Not heal; nothing could heal those wounds, for they were wounds of love, not flesh, but time would blunt the pain.

Now, in autumn, he was going to Findias again, for Anne had sent a message with a coal wagon to ask him. Elizabeth had to attend a patient in the nomads’ quarter, and Anne did not want to ‘entrust my mother’s safety to a Fiann escort now.’ Charles would be angry, but Angus was not going to ignore a request from his god-daughter.

The ‘now’ was intriguing. It implied that relations between Fianna and Terrans had deteriorated, and that Angus already knew all about it. No doubt he soon would but, forewarned, came armed. The earl allowed no weapons in Findias other than the daggers which all wore at their belts, but many men carried staves also. Angus’s stave was as long as he was tall, twice the thickness of his thumb, and iron shod at each end. Trouble-makers would see it and think again.

Noble women never went out on foot, but from the first Elizabeth had refused to travel by litter, saying it would be a barrier between her and her patients. Few Fiann, of course, understood. Commoner and noble alike had scorned her because she walked the streets of Findias. Escorted, of course, but still, on foot like a peasant. But as her reputation as a healer grew, attitudes changed and most Findians had come to respect her. Her tall, slim, erect carriage, her head held high, a few blonde hair wisps escaping her hood, rapidly striding across the cobbles: they knew she was taking succour to one of their countrymen.

So what had happened in a mere few months to make it too dangerous for Elizabeth to visit the nomads’ quarter with a Fiann escort? Angus gained a hint as he rode down to the city.

The Project proving farms on the hillsides on the trail side of the Telamon gorge lay neglected, weeds growing between untended crops. As he crossed the bridge to the Treveri Gate, he could see the clay works further down. Brick stacks and lines of pipes stood ready for firing, but no smoke came from the chimneys, and the works were deserted.

Surely Charles could not have alienated the earl in a mere two months? An even shorter period, for the neglect looked more than a month old.

He was sitting on a bench on the cobbles outside The Silver Falcon Tavern drinking tea when the two women came into sight. Anne ran up, kissed his cheek and said, “Oh, thank you, Angus. Mother, I’ll leave you now.” She glanced at Angus, smiled and said, “Sorry; I’m on reception duty,” and hurried off.

Elizabeth stared at him. “Angus! What is this? What are you doing here?”

He smiled. Whatever else had happened, Elizabeth hadn’t changed. Concern for a friend came first, pleasantries later. “I’m very well, thank you, Elizabeth, and how nice to see you too.”

She glanced behind her, took his arm and hurried him on up the hill. “If Charles sees you here, he’ll be livid.”

“Really? Why, what’s been happening?”

“Angus, are you here to escort me to the nomads’ quarter?”

“Yes, of course, what else? Anne asked me to come. Didn’t she tell you?”

“No, she didn’t. She just rushed me out, telling me she had someone reliable as an escort. If she had, I’d have stopped you.”

“That’s why she didn’t tell you, I guess. She implied in her note that she didn’t trust Findians any more. So what has happened while I’ve been in Treveri?”

Elizabeth took a deep breath. “The project has all but stopped, and Charles blames you. It all happened within two weeks of you leaving Findias. Charles called a meeting to present his new directors, and the earl refused to accept them. Charles, apparently, believed no one could question his decisions, but, faced with the earl’s firm ‘No’, prevaricated, then promised to look into it. He did nothing, expecting, I suppose, the earl to give way. He didn’t, of course, as any of us could have told Charles. A week later, a hour or so after another meeting between Charles’s directors and the earl’s men, the earl withdrew all Findian labour from every project except medicine. So within ten days of our no-confidence debate, the Terran Project, everything except the hospital, stopped. Charles was shocked.” Elizabeth shook her head. “Somehow he’d convinced himself that he had high, if not equal status with the earl. He’d seen the respect that the earl gave to Agnes, and expected the same. It hadn’t struck him that Agnes had earned that respect by her character and abilities. So to be treated in such an abrupt and offhand way stunned him. He’d taken the earl’s words as a basis for negotiation, not as a statement of intent. He hadn’t, and apparently still hasn’t, grasped the fundamental difference in culture and perceptions that pertain on Fianna, that straight dealing is the only way that works with the earl, that integrity and openness are foundation stones in this society.”

“But as communications director, he must have seen how Agnes was open and honest with the Earl in her dealings.”

“Oh, Angus; Charles, open and honest? He’s not capable of it. He thought, someone said, that Agnes was naive, and gave away too much.”

“Agnes, naive? The man’s arrogance! Anyway, gave away what? ‘Giving away’ is what we’re here for.”

“Who knows what goes on his mind? Anyway, he asked for a private audience. The earl saw him, but in open court, where Charles had to present his petition along with all the Findians. Charles put the best case he could think of, arguing that his directors should be allowed to prove themselves. The earl said that Agnes had appointed men and women who had already proved themselves, that Findias was not a school for untried puppies, that he would not allow incompetent men to indulge themselves at the expense of Findias. He then dismissed Charles like a common petitioner. The whole business was very degrading for Charles, and the reference to incompetence very pointed. Unfortunately, it set the tone for the treatment of Terrans generally, so disrespect towards us in Findias has become common. Within the hospital it has not been a problem, but walking abroad, it has.”

“Even for you, Elizabeth?”

“Less so than for others, I’ve been told. But yes, I don’t go out without an escort now, and neither Anne nor Lea go out at all if they can help it.”

“Damn Charles. That others have to suffer for his uselessness. Us and the Findians.”

“It is not just areas which need Findian labour. The earl has withdrawn permission for all our surveys. Biology, botany, entomology, land, mineral resources. Every field that has a director appointed by Charles has been stopped. Half of the directors he appoined have resigned, to his fury, and he’s suspended them from duty.”

“Are they contrite?”

“Practically on their knees begging forgiveness, saying they were silly and naive, and should have listened to you. I have several in the hospital changing bedpans and washing linen. Not a word of complaint. They’ve offered to support us in another no confidence debate, but I believe the situation is beyond that. We must just wait for action for the Colonial Office.”

“Young idiots. We might not be in this position if they’d shown some sense.”

“Oh, Charles would have used some other trick. He’d have ruled by emergency decree or something like that. He’d nailed his colours to the mast by that time, and couldn’t afford to lose. Most of our generation, the old directors whom Charles relegated to consultants, have reverted to their hand trades. George has opened a joinery workshop, and has been replacing our timber windows in the hospital. But others, like Peter, agricultural biologist Peter, have come to work on the wards. He says he feels better doing something to help the Fiann.”

“That’s ridiculous. He’s supposed to be analysing crop pests. This is a criminal waste of his time.”

“Of everyone’s time, Angus. We’re all furious with Charles, and demanded meetings. He gave us one, during which he slouched in his chair and pretended to listen to us. Halfway through, he stood up and, ignoring everything we’d said, told us that the ‘slow-down’ was your fault. The earl stopped the Project because he is furious about Fuill Rock, and that you were whispering into the earl’s ear, poisoning his mind against him, Charles. The obvious contradiction between those positions don’t seem to bother him. Beyond that, he said that he was the leader appointed, and if we didn’t like it, too bad. We could complain to Earth.

“We did, and no one has had a reply. All reports go through Brian, Charles’s communications director, and while he swears he has sent them, we believe Charles has blocked them. We’ve even considered walking out and setting up a parallel Project, but most feel that is too radical a step, and that Earth must get suspicious about what is happening here eventually, and take action. But ... I wonder. Charles could be sending in his own false reports as well as blocking ours.”

“That’s pretty extreme, Elizabeth. Massaging figures is one thing, blatant lies another. If he was found out, his career would be detonated.”

“Maybe I’m too cynical.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. You see things as they are, Elizabeth, and you’re not afraid to say what you think. That’s partly your profession, but mostly you. That’s why everyone looks up to you, why they trust your judgment, why, when you say ‘wait’, we wait.”

She looked at him. “Angus, it’s only because ... I’m not ... I’m not taking over the leadership, Angus. You know that.”

Angus smiled. “Only because I’ve become a hermit?”

“You were very much an activist before Fuill Rock, Angus.”

“Active is more the word. I was Agnes’s action man, but you were her philosophical counsellor.”

“Angus, Agnes had no need of a counsellor. We discussed matters, that was all.”

“Her sounding board, then.”

“Whatever you call it, and whatever the others think of me, I’m not and never will be interested in taking over the leadership. But you were, Angus, and with your ‘action man’ record, Charles cannot believe that you have turned your back on that. Your acquiesence in accepting your ban and your passivity in staying in Treveri have only made him more suspicious. But even more, the speed with which everything has collapsed has convinced him you are involved.”

“We expected it to happen. We told him it would happen.”

“You did. Yes, we did expect it, but not so quickly or so radically.”

“Ceofrin is decisive. He sees, analyses, considers, then acts. That’s why he’s a good leader.”

“Charles believes you’re behind it. He believes you’re meeting the earl secretly, that you’re poisoning his mind. That’s why I was not pleased to see you in Findias. If he learns you are here he’ll take you in for interrogation.”

“I’d have nothing to tell him. I haven’t seen the earl since Fuill Rock, and the only Findians I’ve spoken to have been wagon drivers, delivering coal and iron pigs. The earl knows what’s going on. He is an intelligent man and a capable leader. He doesn’t need my ‘poison’ to see what sort of man Charles is, and he certainly doesn’t need my advice about what to do.”

“Charles can’t or won’t see that, Angus.”

“I believe you. Plotters and schemers see plots and schemes everywhere, and politicians often have trouble in facing up to unpalatable truths, especially about themselves. Did you ever meet Charles on Earth?”

“No, I didn’t. He was in your training cohort, wasn’t he.”

“Yes. But I was a lad off the streets; he was a senator’s grandson. He looked down his nose at riff-raff like me. When we graduated, most of us were scrambling about for any off-world posting. He was fast-tracked into a senior administrative position. I went off to Psezpolnica, Fabia and Valhalla, then Toba, and he stayed on Earth, networking, sliding between the factions, building a political base. He was pretty good at avoiding trouble, I heard. They called him Teflon Charles.”

“Not the best training for a Project director.”

“Difficult to imagine a worse one. Just a pity that Fianna has to be the proving ground.”

“Why is it that he has no extra-terrestrial experience? I would have thought it’d be a priority for an ambitious man.”

“Charles wants rank and power, yes, but he wants them cheap. Colonial worlds are dangerous, as we both well know. Any little thing can kill us off: a local disease, an earthquake, an angry warlord, religious fanatics - we are very vulnerable.”

Elizabeth glanced at him and nodded silently.

Angus went on. “Charles didn’t want that risk. Now, fifteen years after graduation, his rank on Earth is equivalent to a Project director - but he has never been off-world. If he wants to rise higher, he has to have off-world experience. Fianna just fell into his lap, I suppose. He married Heather, she asked me to help, and we lobbied for a post for him here. Sorry about that, Elizabeth.”

She waved the apology away and said, “I wonder …”

He looked at her.

“It all happened so quickly. The Toba conflagration, your divorce, Heather’s remarriage, the Fianna Project - a plum posting, as safe as a posting could be - coming up. I wonder if Charles looked at the whole picture - you, Heather, Fianna - and took a calculated gamble.”

“That would take a … deeply unprincipled hypocrite. You think we were all manipulated?”

Elizabeth placed a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Angus. This must hurt, but I think it is possible. Traumatised project operatives are always sent to grade A or B planets to recover. There aren’t that many of them. Findias, a stable society with a strong, wise leader, would be just such a posting. As a novice, Charles would never have been sent here, and Heather would not have come, unattached. But married to and persuaded by Charles? Jeannie could spend time with her father. To benefit Jeannie, Heather would be persuadable. Charles can be very charming.”

“He certainly was when he was courting Heather. I’d hoped to woo her back, but was very much the country bumpkin. He sent her flowers every day, gave her dinners at West End restaurants, showered her with gifts from New Bond Street boutiques, was attentive to Jeannie. Heather was bowled over.”

“Most women would be, at first. But most women would also be concerned that Charles had three broken marriages behind him. Anyway, now we see what underlies that charm. Fuill Rock happens and immediately Charles swings into action.”

“Difficult to believe anyone could be that scheming. But he swooped down on Heather, and she wasn’t his type at all. Fuill Rock … you don’t think …”

Elizabeth shook her head. “No. Sending in fabricated reports is one thing, coldly arranging the killing of his own wife and stepdaughter another. He’d commit fraud but not murder. Besides, how? He hasn’t the connections.”

Angus nodded. “You’re right, fraudsters and killers have different types of mind. And yes, Charles despises and distrusts the Fiann almost as much as they despise and distrust him. Besides, he’s terrified of the druids. Still, after Fuill Rock he seized the moment so quickly and smoothly … It was just opportunism, just being slick and clever.”

Elizabeth shook her head again. “Cunning, rather, and, coupled with arrogance, it’s a fatal flaw. A clever man, having achieved the leadership but recognising his own limitations, would quietly sit back and let the teams do their jobs. He would delegate everything, and concentrate on entertaining and charming the ladies. Success would be all but guaranteed, and at the end of the Project he could quietly take the credit. But Charles couldn’t do that. He had to be leader in fact as well as name, but he hasn’t the character or the capability. He believes his methods on Earth will work here. And the result is what we have now, a collapsing Project.”


	10. The Nomads' Quarter

They had little trouble in the marketplace, but as they approached the Nomads’ Quarter, the change in attitudes was clear. Men and women stopped to stare at them, some frowning, but others whispered to them, and they turned away. Occasionally a woman would bow her head as they passed, saying “Banmiddach Elizabeth,” sometimes giving a shy smile.

Once a burly man stepped into their path, but Angus pushed ahead of Elizabeth and rapped his staff on the cobbles. The metal-shod end rang, and someone called out in the Findian dialect. Angus could not make out the words, but he heard the word “Ironrod.” The burly man scowled and turned away.

This was new. Had he developed a reputation in his absence? He’d noticed that men occasionally gave courteous nods as he passed, as they would do for one of the earl’s guard.

“Dyers’ Yard. This must be it. A hundred paces past the Auroch tavern and just opposite a small tanner’s yard, which, judging by the smell, is there.” He pointed to a cart-width opening between two tenements. “And look, there is his token.” He pointed to a small square of red leather nailed to a lintel over the passageway entrance.

“Let me go first, Elizabeth.” He led the way into the narrow passage. Water dripped down the walls and ran between the cobbles into the gutter in the main street. The passage led to a small yard. The cobbled surface was green with moss. Chest high, lidless vats of dyes of different colours lined one wall. Wooden racks ran down the centre of the yard. Some contained drying washing, others red dyed leather sheets.

Hemming in the yard were the tenements. They rose three storeys, each face perforated by windows, most of them closed and shuttered. Children in ragged clothing were playing on the cobbles. Angus called to them. “We seek goodman Braic. Which door is his?”

The children stared at him, then screamed, “Callieach,” and ran through an open doorway.

“That’s the first time in five months I’ve been called a witch,” said Elizabeth softly.

“Welcome to the nomads’ quarter,” Angus muttered.

For a few moments they could feel the silence. Only the distant clatter of ironbound cartwheels on cobbles in the main street could be heard. Then above them a shutter creaked open, just a crack, then closed again. A few moments later a door opened and an old man stepped outside, staring at them.

“Banmiddach. You came, baintigherna.” He bowed.

Elizabeth gave a courteous nod. “As I said I would, goodman Braic, during the second watch.”

“Indeed you did, baintighearna, but I doubted … This is no place for a lady.” He gestured around at the yard.

“I come to visit my patient, goodman, not a place. Perhaps you could lead the way?”

He bowed again, and entered the house. Handing Angus a lit candlestub, he lead the way up a narrow stairway and into a small front room. It was dark, lit only by chinks of light at the shuttered winows and embers glowing in a tiny fireplace. Angus took a lamp from his bag, lit it from the candle and placed it on a chair next to the bed.

A woman lay there, covered by a quilt, her white hair splayed out across the pillow. Her face was thin and her cheeks hollowed.

“Banmiddach,” she whispered, “I knew you would come. Bless you. My pain is less now, banmiddach, I sleep better. But I feel,” a hand stirred under the bedclothes, “I feel no strength.”

Silently, Angus withdrew, and went to wait on the landing. Lifting the candle stub, he looked around. Black mould was spreading across the ceiling and plaster had fallen from the walls in several places, revealing the wooden lathes beneath. The floorboards creaked, the air was damp and permeated by the smell of urine. He found himself taking shallow breaths. This must be what Dickensian London had been like.

Elizabeth came out, followed by the old man. He led the way into a small room with leather working tools hanging on the walls, and they sat down around a narrow table.

“Since you gave her the white tablets, baintighearna, she has been better. She coughs less, she sleeps better. She is calmer, she can talk. Surely, surely, baintighearna, she is getting well again?”

Elizabeth shook her head slowly. “No. I am sorry, goodman. The tablets help by suppressing the need to cough. They do not, cannot fight the disease itself. We cannot rebuild her lungs. The disease is too advanced. I can reduce the pain, help her breathe, help her sleep. I cannot cure her.”

The old man nodded, his brows creased with sorrow. Then he stood up and bowed to her. “Yet I bless you, lady of Earth. I know she will die: I have seen the darkness settling around her, I have seen the shadow in her eyes. But you have made her journey easier.”

Elizabeth gave a courteous nod. “Thank you, goodman. That is why we are on Fianna. If I can cure, I will cure. If I cannot, I can at least ease her passing. You have tablets and pure water for three days. In four days time, during second watch, Nurse Neima will visit, bringing more medicines and water. Should anything happen in the meantime, please let us know.”

Angus led the way down the stairs and through the front door, closing it behind Elizabeth.

The yard, empty before, now held a huddled group of men and women, talking among themselves. A woman screamed, “Callieach!” as they appeared, and a man in a leather jerkin stepped forward, pointing at Elizabeth.

“Aye, witch, you have come to the nomads’ quarter with your evil eye. You come to steal souls. You think that in Dyers’ Yard no one will see, no one will hear, no one will know. But we see, we hear, we know.”

Elizabeth faced him. “I come at the request of goodman Braic, to see his wife. I come to succour, to help, and not to harm.”

“You are a callieach and you give the droch shuil.” shrieked a woman.

“We are here at the word of the earl,” said Angus. “If you harm us, the earl will demand retribution.”

“You are witches,” bellowed the jerkin man. “You give the evil eye. You bring maladies on Dyers’ Yard. What is the earl’s law to us when we are sick and dying? We will kill you.”

“Elizabeth, go back into the house. I will follow you.” Angus hammered the ironshod end of the staff on the cobbles and the walls rang. “I am Ironrod, of three heads. Who challenges me?” A futile gesture, he knew, but if it could buy them a few moments …

“Stone them, stone the witches!” Several people bent to pull cobbles from the ground.

Angus was backing towards the door when he heard the shutters above him crash open.

A woman stood in the window opening, leaning forward, skeletal arms braced on the windowsill. With her white hair, sunken cheeks and wasted body, she looked spectral. The crowd paused, staring upwards.

“The banmiddach is my anumcara. Harm her and you will have my dying curse.” She spoke in a whisper, but every word was clear. “My time is upon me, neighbours. The reaper awaits.” Even as she spoke, people were sidling away, entering their tenements, closing the doors quickly and quietly behind them.

She pointed at the man in the leather jerkin. “You, Crimlock. A troublemaker but never a sound day’s work could you do. Get you gone. Your days are few enough, but I will make them fewer.” She spat at him, then drew a shuddering breath and cried out, “Go, get you gone. The banmiddach is my anumcara.”

She reached out a hand as if about to curse them, and Crimlock and the last few remaining people turned and ran, slamming their doors behind them. Angus glanced upwards, but the woman had already gone, and two thin hands were pulling the shutters to.

Quickly and quietly, the Terrans left the yard.

Once in the street and hurrying up to the market square, Angus said, “That was close.”

“Yes,” said Elizabeth. “I’ve had unpleasantness and threats before but nothing quite that bad.”

“Anumcara? Have you heard that term before?”

“Yes, though rarely. It means ‘soul friend’. In this context, it is given to one who walks, in a spiritual sense, with a person who is dying. One who aids their passage to the next world. It establishes a special bond between them, one that extends beyond death. The spirit of the person who dies extends an aura of protection over the anumcara. To attempt to harm an anumcara is to offend the gods and invite the wrath of the dead spirit.”

Angus nodded. “So they fled. Stoning Terrans is one thing, angering the spirits is another.”

“Angus, are you going to report this incident?”

“What, to Charles? Absolutely not. Are you?”

“Normally I would. But Charles will twist it to show the Findians as benighted savages. No, I don’t believe I will.”

“Really, Elizabeth?”

“Under Agnes, it would not have crossed my mind not to do so. But under Charles everything has a political dimension. I’m not going to hand Charles any reason to blame the Findians for the Project failure. I shall tell the others, of course. They need to know.” She sighed. “Those people show our failure. The bigotry and hatred, the old woman dying of tuberculosis, the insanity conditions, the impure water. If she had visited me two months ago, I may have been able to save her. But she didn’t, because distrust of Terrans was spreading. We have failed, and they pay the price: the poor, the uneducated, the old and the young.”

“I never thought I’d see the day when Banmiddach Elizabeth showed bitterness.”

“I never thought I would. It is such a negative, pointless emotion. But what is happening is so avoidable. It’s all due to the blind intransigence of one stupid man.”

“It can’t go on.”

“It won’t go on. The earl is under pressure from conservative elements in his council of barons. They have always objected to our presence, and their voices are growing louder. Our probation period is up in six months, but the earl won’t wait that long. If there is is no change, and soon, he will tell us to go before winter sets in.” She placed a hand on his arm. “Angus, I don’t like asking this, given that Charles has barred you from Findias, but you have a stature among the Findians that nobody else has. Could you come again in five days, to escort us to the earl’s parade on Samhain? Anne and Lea really want to see it, and we may not get another opportunity.”

“Of course, Elizabeth. Flouting Charles’s petty little rulings doesn’t bother me - we’ll all be going home soon in any case.”


	11. Travellers to the Samhain Festival

The bed of coals Angus laid down in the forge furnace was thinner than usual, for he’d be working for only half the morning. After that he’d be riding down to Findias to escort Mary, Elizabeth and her daughters to watch the Samhain procession.

The coals would take an hour or so to burn down, just enough to let him do some game spotting. Taking his crossbow, staff and daypack, he set off up the southern slopes. Before Fuill Rock that was all he’d have taken. Now, under his windbreaker he wore a mail vest as well.

He reached a glade on the hillside and looked out southwards over the land. On a shoulder of an outlying rib of the Treveri ridge was the earl’s citadel with the city Findias below it, stretching down to the floodplain of the Telemon River. He could just make out the glow of the fires on the watchtowers. To the southeast lay the Uabhal Mor and the Rock of Fuill. There, unmarked and hidden under the trees, was Jeannie’s grave. She lay between Heather and Agnes.

He turned and continued up the hill. Just over the ridge he climbed a knoll. Reaching the lookout spot, he shivered and drew on a sheepskin coat. At this time of the morning, cold air rolled down off the snows of the Algonim, across the Telemon Plain and over the Treveri hills. The plain was about thirty miles wide here, savanna country with low hills scattered here and there.

He liked to come up here to watch the dawn light fire up the plain, revealing the herds of grazing herbivores. The days were shortening now, the harvest in, the snows on the Algonim thickening. Already the huge indricothere were moving, grazing their way southwest, to the warmer lowlands. The great herds of chalicothere, so numerous it looked as though the ground itself were moving when they migrated, had left already, weeks ago.

He was just in time. The snow on the peaks of the Algonim was taking on the pink tinge of the rising sun. Fianna was bigger than Earth, but the speed of rotation was faster. This meant that dawn came quickly. Even now the light was sliding down the mountainsides. The black basalt faces would lighten next, then the steep combes with their dark green forested slopes, and finally the savanna.

He spread a square of chalico hide on the rock and sat down crosslegged. Resting his elbows on his knees he scanned the plain nearby with the monocular. Yes, there they were, among the trees, massive beasts as tall as a Terran elephant, but with an ungainly backward sloping body and a horselike face. No doubt hyaenodons and other predators would be prowling nearby, looking for a meal. Game was becoming scarce now.

There – there was a flash of movement and he shifted position to follow it. No, not a predator – or not at present, anyway. That Fiann noble out riding his greathorse again. He must be recently arrived in Findias, for Angus had never seen him on the plain before this last month. The young man clearly loved the exhilaration of galloping across the savanna on his powerful mount. The danger of being hunted by some predator did not seem to bother him – indeed, it probably enhanced the excitement.

Angus began sweeping again, looking for game. He caught an unusual shape and scanned back. Two covered wagons and an escort were coming along the Algonim trail. They must have camped at the walled waystation ten miles out and left well before dawn. Immediately he looked around and behind for hunting predators. Crossing the Telamon at any time was dangerous, but around dawn and dusk were when the hunters were out. Still, the outriders were armed with pikes and carrying pitch torches, so the party was probably as safe as they could be.

He focused the monocular and inspected them. A dozen outriders, including two on greathorses. Both were big men, but one, dressed in black, sat slumped in his saddle. The other, in red, looked more active. Two sat on the driving bench of the first wagon, a youth and a girl. Probably a noble family from a holding in one of the sheltered combes in the Algonim foothills. Most holders had a house in Findias, and brought staff with them when they came to attend festivals. The pennant flying from the wagon mast showed yellow and black stripes with a white disc in the middle. The wagon swung around, following the trail as it approached the climb over the Treveri Hills. The trail to the lodge was on a branch off the main trail, so they’d not pass his smithy. To which he must return now, for the coals would be ready.

Passing through the palisade gate, he noticed two strips of black cloth knotted around one of the bars. They had no markings but one was at head level, the other at foot. Some religious ritual? To contain the Terran witch within? Perhaps they’d had been left by a passing woodsman. They were superstitious, like many rural people. He untied them and looked at them. A coarse weave, coarser than normal Findian cloth. This must be from a cottage loom. He thrust them into his pocket and went inside the gates.

He’d been at work for an hour when a clang on the rail outside the palisade gate told him he had a customer. He slipped on the mail tunic and picked up both crowbar and crossbow as he went out.

Outside was one of the wagons he’d seen earlier. Clanging the rail again was the man in red, on his greathorse. He was leading the other greathorse. Of the rider there was no sign.

“Ho, farrier! Get a move on, man! We haven’t got all bloody day!”

Angus frowned. He hated arrogance. He walked to the gate control post, slung the crossbow over his shoulder, and threw the lever over. The gears engaged, the counterweights slid down their tracks, and the gates swung silently open.

The Fiann reined back his horse, startled. Then he swore and heeled his mount forward through the opening. Behind him the wagons followed with a creaking of timber joints, water vapour condensing from the nostrils of six yoked horses, blowing from the hill out of the plain. The driver, a boy of about seventeen, stood on the driving board, a bundle of reins in each hand, calling to the horses. He swung the team around in a circle, ready to leave again. Behind him, on the driving bench, sat the redhead girl Angus had seen from the hilltop. The men-at-arms waited outside, pitch torches standing upright in saddle sockets, some still smoking.

Angus stood waiting next to the yard anvil, his arms folded. The Fiann wore a necklace of hyaenodon teeth, and the sleeves and leggings of his red leather jerkin and trousers had darts of black cloth. He wore a broad black leather belt and thigh length black boots. A dandy, particularly by Fiann standards. He looked in his early thirties, but unlike most men of his age and station, had begun to soften. The leather around his stomach was taut.

He looked at Angus, scowled and said, “By the Morrigan, I might have guessed it, stuck out here. A bloody Terran.”

“Aye, Fiann, a bloody Terran. What do you want?”

The man scowled. “You speak to lord Turig of Rutena, Terran. Speak respectfully!”

Angus brought his crowbar down on the anvil with a clang. The greathorses snorted and backed. “My business is with iron, not with lords, Fiann. If you have iron work, say so. Otherwise I return to my tasks,” and he turned to go back to the forge.

“Damn you, Terran, you are insolent. I will not-“

“My lord,” the light voice of a woman interrupted him. The awning on the side of the wagon had been drawn to one side and an auburn haired woman sat framed in the opening. “We have but little time to lose. Would it not be as well to ask the farrier to examine the horse?”

The Fiann glowered towards the wagon, but even as he turned back, Angus noticed that the led horse was trembling. He stepped around to look at it and saw blood dripping from a wound in its shoulder. He exclaimed and the Fiann said, “Just patch it up, Terran.”

Angus always had a pot of boiled water at hand, for spark burns from forge work were not uncommon. He fetched it and some sterile clothes, and began cleaning the flesh around the wound. The horse flinched and Angus said, “Easy, boy, easy. I won’t hurt you. You just stand there and we’ll have you cleaned up in no time.” He kept speaking in a calming voice as he worked, and the horse quietened.

The Fiann said, “Do you always speak to dumb animals, Terran?”

“Yes, I do. It helps establishes a bond of trust between us.”

“Crap, Terran. A horse is a horse is a horse. You ride him by bit and spur, he does what you want. That’s it.”

Angus glanced at him. The man’s face was fleshy, the mouth turned down in a permanent sneer. Appealing to his better nature looked unlikely to have much effect. Instead he said, “This wound: it was made by teeth. Was this horse attacked? We have a few small predators in the Treveri, but nothing that would tackle a horse.”

The Fiann gave a curt laugh. “Aye, attacked we were. And by a pre-da-tor, a fancy word for a wildcat. Small she was, aye, and pretty too, for a stinking Baian. My cousin there,” he jerked his head at the wagon, “he came across her bathing in a pool, naked as the day she was born, some cursed dark ritual. He rode up to her and she attacked his horse. When he dismounted she attacked him, the cursed witch. So we’re taking her to the earl, for he pays good bounty for Baian trash.”

A Baian? Here, in the Treveri, and near the smithy? His thoughts flew to the earl’s warning. The Baian had failed once but may still try to kill him. But a female assassin? That sounded unlikely. On the other hand, someone bathing in a sacred pool at dawn suggested a purification ritual. Had she left the black cloths he’d found that morning?

He continued cleaning around the wound, murmuring to the horse. The skin and hair around the wound had flakes of mud, and the horse smelt of stale sweat. He ran a hand from withers to rump; the hair was also matted with dirt and sweat. Angus frowned: clearly the horse had been ridden hard, but had not been groomed for at least some days. He checked the hooves. Little stones were lodged in the crevices and he dislodged them with the hoof pick. The horse snorted and jerked.

“Get a move on, Terran, we haven’t all bloody day. We’ll take it to a proper horse doctor in Findias.”

Angus stood back. He had done what he could. Proper attention was what the animal needed. “Try Drucht the ostler at the Treveri Gate. He’ll take good care of your horse.”

“And pay you a backhander, Terran. No, he’ll go to Sualtaim the breaker at the Quay Gate.”

Angus frowned. Sualtaim charged rock bottom prices and gave a corresponding level of service. “This horse needs better care. He’s been neglected.”

The Fiann glared at him. “His care is good enough, Terran. We have more important things to do than attend to horses.”

Angus glanced at the men-at-arms. They looked surly, and their uniforms were ragged and their pike blades rusty. The horses were thin. Even the colours fluttering near the shaft head of their spears looked faded and dirty. The wagon did not look old, but a spoke was missing from two of the wheels, and the wickerwork tailgate was merely lashed in place by rope.

“So I see. More important than the care of your men and wagon, and no doubt the whole of your lands also. But less important than hunting the scavenge wolf.”

The Fiann gave a barking laugh and called out, “Ho, cousin, here is a Terran criticizing your estate management.”

“Is he, by the gods!” came a hoarse voice from the wagon. The cover was stripped back further and a burly man grasped one of the wagon frame hoops and hauled himself erect. The black leather man. He also wore a necklace of hyaenadon teeth, and showed what Turig would look like in a decade or less. A thickened body, a belly, hanging jowls, face set in a permanent scowl. “If the cursed witch had not crippled me, I’d carve his hide for him. Run the bastard through, Turig.”

The mounted noble half drew his sword and Angus stepped back, swinging the crossbow off his back.

The woman stood up, looking both frightened and angry. “Nay, lord, please let us have no violence. Sir,” she turned to Angus, resting a hand on the tailgate for balance. “Please do not criticize what you have not seen.” She lifted her hand and the tailgate swung down. Angus raised his eyebrows but did not say anything. The woman turned and glared at the man in the wagon. The girl giggled, covering her mouth with her hand when the woman frowned at her.

With the tailgate down, Angus could see that the man in the wagon had a bandage streaked with blood tied around one leg. He could also see a young woman sitting in the wagon. Her eyes were closed, but she too had a bandage, around her head. She was wrapped in a blanket and her face was bruised. As if sensing his gaze, she slowly raised her head and stared at him. He recognised her immediately - the bandraoi from Fuill Rock. All doubt left him; she could be here only to finish that business. How had she planned to do it? By curses? A knife in the dark? But why had she left the cloth: it could only serve to warn him. Well, whatever her intentions, they were now neutralised. What would the earl do with her? Violence against women was anathema in this society.

Angus looked up at the auburn haired woman and said, “If you seek an infirmary in Findias, madam, the Terran hospital is in Massalia Square, in the merchants’ quarter.”

Her nostrils flared, but before she could speak, the wounded man roared, “The bloody Terran hospital! By the Morrigan, am I a leper, or one of the cursed of the gods? I will go to a Fiann healer, not a Terran cailleach!”

“You may go to Uffern, for me,” said Angus. “But what of the woman here? She is hurt and in pain.”

The auburn haired woman began speaking, but the wounded Fiann overrode her. “Her? She is a Baian cailleach, fool. The Terran hospital would be a good place for her, a witch to tend a witch. Aye, she is hurt and in pain, and justly so, for the cailleach hurt me when I caught her.”

Now Angus noticed the awkward angle of the arms. She was bound.

Angus frowned. “You did this?” He gestured to the bruised face, the bloodied bandage.

“Aye, that I did. And would have done more, but for the earl’s law. She hurt me, the rabid wildcat.”

The boy lashed the tailgate back into place, hiding her from his view.

“So this is Fiann honour? To beat a woman, a mere girl, so? One with a tenth of your strength? No doubt the earl will commend you for your manliness and courage.”

“By the gods, Terran, I will have your hide,” the man roared, but the woman was already crying, “Go, Conchobar, go! Lord, husband, forbear, forbear, the earl has expressly forbidden harming the Terrans - however insolent they may be - on pain of banishment. Conchobar, go!”

The boy shook the reins, calling to the horses. The wagon lurched to motion and the man grabbed at the hoop frame to keep his balance. “I heard the Baian met some of you scum, Terran,” he yelled. “Killed some, women and children too. Best thing they ever did, aye.”

Angus’s heart heaved in anger. Words were not enough now. He armed the crossbow, aimed and loosed the bolt. It hammered into the tailgate and passed partway through, pinning it to a side plank. The girl screamed. The boy yelled and shook the reins. The wagon picked up speed, creaking, swinging from side to side.

The man in red leather roared and drew his sword. Angus slid another bolt in the breach and shouted, “Get out!” He gestured to the gateway, through which the wagon was now lumbering. The men-at-arms were milling around, ready to attack. Angus sprang across to the post and threw the lever back again. The gates began to close.

The Fiann swung his horse around. “By the gods, the earl shall hear of this, Terran. You dare to threaten a Fiann nobleman, you scurvy rat. You will rue this.” He galloped out.

The gates swung to behind him. Angus lowered the bow and sat down on the anvil. He was shaking. Arrogant, ignorant … Images swept before his eyes: Keldric staggering back, face full of blood, Duwald’s body lying still in the moonlight, the little unmarked grave under the trees.

Rue it? Not if the earl heard the full story, though no doubt the Fiann – Turig of Rutena, he’d called himself – would be selective in the telling. But the earl would hear Angus’s side before he did anything, or, more likely, dismiss the whole business as insignificant.


	12. Redraic of Tolosa

Samhain at last. The procession was at midday, and Redraic of Tolosa was looking forward to it. For the first time he’d be riding with the Council barons, behind his uncle. Normally he’d be about ten rows back, with Tana, flying the Tolosa banner.

But more than the procession, Samhain meant autumn was fading with the leaves and winter approaching. Thank the gods - Redraic liked Findias but not the stink of the city. In late summer the north wind failed for days at a time and the stench became unbelievable. Not a healthy farmyard smell, of wet straw and cattle droppings, associated with peace and contentment, but of human sewage, associated with nothing pleasant at all. Weren’t those damned Terrans supposed to do something about that?

His mother would be relieved too. Her first act, on arriving at Tolosa House from the family estate a month ago, had been to move her drawing room to a back room on the top floor overlooking the courtyard. Normally she refused to be in Findias at this time of year, but the earl had requested Redraic’s attendance. They all knew what that meant: with Osric and Keldric dead, Redraic was the last scion of the House of Lugh. He was to be groomed for the leadership of Findias. So lady Fedhelm had come to Findias to keep house for him and, he suspected, to keep him out of trouble. And for times when she couldn’t be there, she’d brought Tana, his younger sister. This was silly, he thought. Yes, perhaps he had been a bit wild in Findias the last few years, carousing every night, though no worse than the other young nobles. And why not? _He_ hadn’t been a candidate for the leadership. That burden fell on his staid and serious brother.

Osric had been four years older than him, but in many ways more like an uncle than a brother. He’d known his possible future from an early age, and it had matured him. Or so the adults said; Redraic thought it had snuffed all the fun out of his life. Too much thinking and too little laughter. And Osric, when he did notice Redraic - which wasn’t often, as he’d been fostered to the earl’s family - had thought the opposite of his little brother. Which, to Redraic’s way of thinking, was fine. He’d rather have fun than be the earl, and would be perfectly happy to support his clever brother. His feeling were relief, not envy. Running Tolosa Holding would more than fulfil his ambitions.

Then Fuill Rock had happened and everything changed. The weight and expectations of the House of Lugh had descended onto his shoulders. He had to knuckle down and shape up; the happy-go-lucky lightweight must prove himself to be a wise and thoughtful man capable of ruling Findias. And he would. He might not like it, but obligation was obligation.

In some ways it hadn’t been too bad. He had family around him in Tolosa House, was well looked after, and had the company of his favourite sister. Tana was fun, and she loved Findias. She loved the hustle and bustle; the clamour of the marketplace, the cries of the vendor selling their wares, the clatter of iron ringed wagon wheels on the cobbles. Her bubbliness raised everyone spirits.

In other ways, well ... he’d soon learnt why Osric had never had fun. He’d had no time. His uncle demanded constant attendance, from mid morning until evening, most days. He’d insisted that Redraic attend him in his duties and, worse, pay attention to what was said. This meant long meetings with the Council, after which the earl would discuss what had been said. After his uncle’s frowns at his weak attempts the first time - the talk had been about the upkeep of roads and replacing the rotting timber piles at the river quay, so unbelievably tedious that he’d had trouble staying awake, let alone taking anything in - Redraic had started taking notes.

Worst of all were the petition days, held twice a week. He’d quickly learned to dread them. The first few sessions had been the most trying. They would hear the petition, and his uncle would turn to him and ask for his opinion. The first time it had happened, he’d not been listening at all, so couldn’t answer. His uncle had frowned, so Redraic had listened carefully to the next petition, and this time given what he thought was a good reply. His uncle had nodded, then laid down a judgement that was the exact opposite. And so it had gone on that day. By the end, Redraic was seething. Why ask if he was just to be ignored? But that evening they went through the cases one by one and the earl explained his reasoning for each judgment.

Redraic had been stunned. He knew his uncle had the reputation of a wise leader, but now he saw why. The earl considered the benefit of the petitioner’s neighbours, of the land, of Findias, as well as that of the petitioner. He considered law, precedent, history, local and national implications, and public opinion. Seven devils! The ruler of Findias had to know all this? Yes, said his uncle, if the state was to be well governed, he did.

The implication was clear. If Redraic was to be a candidate for the chieftainship when his uncle surrendered it - however that happened - he had much to learn. Where, he asked his uncle, could he find out about these matters?

The earl, nodding his approval, had sent him to his great uncle Corvi the druid for history and the law, to certain scribes for economics, trading matters and local affairs. To learn how decisions affected business and trades, he’d met chosen members of the merchants’ guild and the crafts’ guild, landowners, farmers, foresters. To learn about the entitlements, entanglements and expectations of the noble families of the Findian city-state, he was sent, to his surprise, to his mother.

His surprise turned to astonishment when he found that Fedhelm knew everything about them; the people individually and the families as a unit, their power and influence rankings, dispositions, ambitions, even eccentricities. She knew how wealthy each family was, what holdings they had and where, whether they were in livestock, agriculture or natural resources like forestry or mining. She knew which families allied with which, and which were enemies, which intermarried with which, the history of their dealings with the House of Lugh, their current political leanings. When he told her she should be on the earl’s council, she laughed. She was, she said, but unofficially. The earl usually discussed delicate cases involving noble families with her before he handed down a ruling, and, should Redraic ever become earl, he would be prudent to do likewise, with Tana. Tana always sat in, and while she lacked the depth of her mother’s knowledge on the families as they were, she knew all about the next generation. Her observations were coupled with anecdotes and pithy comments that had them rocking with laughter. Again Redraic was astonished. His little sister was astute and clever as well as fun.

Every evening, over supper, he had to tell his uncle what he had learned, with his mother and sister listening. It had been heavy work, and he needed his early morning rides up on the Telemon to clear his head.

And then, to his surprise, it became interesting. He found himself discovering connections, that families with forests allied themselves with families in shipping, because they carried their timber to sell in far countries; that families in agriculture agitated for proper upkeep of roads and bridges around Findias, and became upset when the river quay fell into disrepair, because produce like grain rotted when wagons were stranded or trading ships could not dock. He saw why certain groups petitoned for certain rights, and why other groups opposed them; why trade with foreign states like Aria was important - not just for wealth but also for peace; why keeping on good terms with Gorias was vital, because they helped control the Baian. He learned, in short, how the state of Findias worked. He discovered why his family and in particular his uncle was held in high regard.

His uncle never mentioned the Terrans, and when Redraic asked about them, his uncle frowned and said they would discuss them at some future time. In the meantime, he could look around, and form his own opinion of them.

Redraic had both looked and asked around, and the more he learned, the angrier he became. Angry with those who criticised without considering the earl’s position, angry with his uncle for allowing himself to be put in that position, but most of all angry by the Terrans for putting him there. His uncle had trusted the Terrans, risked his reputation on their promises and was now, because of their failure to deliver, was paying for that trust.

Today Redriac had seen the architect of that failure. He’d been attending his uncle at a morning petition hearing, foreshortened because of the Samhaim procession. Towards the end a man had come in and quietly taken a seat at the end of the chairs, where the merchants and wealthy farmers sat and waited for their turn. His dress, his appearance and his demeanour marked him out as a Terran. He was tall, as tall as many Fiann men, though the Terrans had been described to Redraic as puny, woman-sized. But that was all that was manly about him. He was clean shaven, his hair was a washed-out yellow, and he was as skinny as a woman. His shoulders had no breadth: he looked as though he had never wielded a staff, let alone an axe or a sword. Yet he was arrogant, looking about as though he was better than everyone there.

The chamber had emptied by the time his turn came to present his petition, and the earl dismissed the scribes before calling the Terran forward. “Director Charles. I am surprised to see you here.”

Ah, this was the leader? And his uncle was displeased as well as surprised. His face had taken on that stern look.

“My lord earl, your time is so taken up nowadays I thought this might be the best way of speaking to you. I understand that one of my staff has been causing trouble.”

“You do. What trouble?”

“The blacksmith, in Treveri, shot an arrow at two Fiann lords and their families, who had come to him for help.”

The earl stared at him, coldly. “How did you hear of this? It happened but a few hours ago.”

“Oh … it was reported to me and I thought it best to come to see you right away. Someone heard the tale somewhere, perhaps at the Treveri Gate when the family came through.”

“Unlikely. My barons are not noted for discussing their affairs in the street. I have been told of this incident, director, and on investigation believe that Angus Ironmaster was provoked and his action a moderate response to that provocation. I have no complaints against the ironmaster.”

The Terran bowed his head and said, “We sincerely regret this, my lord earl. This man has been growing more troublesome-”

“I have no issues whatever with the ironmaster, director Charles.” The earl spoke forcefully.

“If you are sure … My lord earl, while I am here, may I take this opportunity to present a small petition of mine?”

The earl’s expression did not change. “Proceed.”

“I know you have reservations about our current projects, but I was wondering if we could teach your distillers to make a drink called mead. It is derived from honey, which you have in abundance.”

“It is an intoxicating drink?”

“Similar to wine, my lord, but sweeter and a little stronger.”

“What purpose does it serve?”

“Merely as a relaxant, my lord, like other alcoholic drinks. For that reason I thought it best if you restricted it to your nobles.”

“You did. And this intoxicant will benefit my people more than, say, improving agricultural yield?”

“Well, no, my lord. But as you have expressed reluctance to proceed with such projects, I thought-”

“Director Charles, we have been through this. You are wasting my time with frivolities. When the advisors you offer are of the same calibre, the guidance of the same quality as that offered by the lady Agnes, we can meet and talk again. When, or if, that time comes, director Charles, please approach my scribes to arrange a meeting in the usual way. These petition days are for Fianns only. Nephew, escort director Charles back to Massalia Square.”


	13. The Festival of Samhain

The earl did not allow riding in Findias except on state occasions or when going about state business. So Angus handed his horse over to Drucht the ostler at the Treveri Gate stables and started up the hill to the market square. Findias was built on a spur of the Treveri Hills, and the market square lay on the flattened ridge, just below the citadel. On three sides the land sloped down towards the city walls.

A little way up the cobbled street, the stones glistening and slippery after the midmorning shower, he reached three men straining to push a cart up the steep incline. Angus joined them, putting a shoulder to the cart. It felt good to be doing something, however small, in the company of others. It felt good to be exerting imself, to smell leather and stale sweat, horse dung and wet straw, to hear laboured breathing. It felt good to be in a place bustling with life and activity. Had it been only a week since he was last here? Even the sewage smell seemed less offensive, though that was largely due to the late autumn winds off the Algonim. The Project was seven months in: he’d hoped to be digging up the streets by this time, laying sewage and water pipes, building a treatment works down on the river plain. Small hope of that ever happening now.

At the brow of the hill he left his fellow labourers, waved away their thanks and went back down to The Silver Falcon _._ Elizabeth, Mary, Anne and little Lea were there, waiting inside.

As they climbed back up to the brow of the hill, Mary said, “Charles was in such a mood when we left. Something to do with Angus and a Fiann noble family, someone said, but I said no, it can’t be, because Angus never leaves Treveri Lodge. That’s right, Angus, isn’t it?”

“It’s right that I hardly ever leave Treveri …”

“But? Oh, Angus, you’re not in more trouble, are you? How can you be, stuck out in the smithy in Treveri?”

“Trouble seeks Angus out, I’m afraid,” said Elizabeth. “What happened, Angus?”

He told them of the Fiann visit to the smithy, not mentioning the comment about the killing of Terrans, just saying the Fiann took offense at his comments about the Baian bandraoi.

Elizabeth said nothing, just listened. Anne and Lea just listened too, Lea’s eyes swinging across to see her mother’s reaction once or twice. Mary exclaimed from time to time and, when Angus described shooting the crossbow bolt at the wagon, burst out, “Oh Angus, you didn’t! I know how you feel, but…to fire at them!”

“I am sorry, Angus,” said Elizabeth. “Truly.”

Angus shrugged. “I didn’t hurt anyone. I just ... reacted and sent them away. In much the same way as a Fiann would have done.”

Elizabeth smiled. “I think that is the problem. You are more Fiann than Terran in temperament. You fit in here better than any of us. That is why you flare up in the same way a Fiann does – which irritates Charles even more. He expects the Terran team to be coldly dispassionate.”

“You mean icily superior, Elizabeth?”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “I mean, Angus, that I am sorry that you have given Charles an excuse to pick on you further. I understand your provocation, but he is just looking for an incident like this.”

“What more can he do?”

Elizabeth put a hand on his arm. “Angus, he can send you home!”

Angus shook his head. “Not even Charles would do that. He dislikes me enough, yes, but to call for a ship to be diverted here so he can send me home? The Colonial Service would raise an awful stink about the cost. He’d hate to have that on his record.”

“That is just it, Angus. He would say that you have become such a liability to the Fianna Project that the cost is justified. He would twist it so that the enormous cost was a reflection of the enormity of your offence. He needs a scapegoat for the Project failure. Please, Angus, don’t give him the excuse.”

“I won’t, deliberately. But … I don’t know that I really care much any more.”

Elizabeth was silent but Mary burst out, “Oh Angus-”

He raised his hand. “Leave it. It’s my problem. Come on. You wanted to see the procession and it will have passed if we don’t get a move on.” They had reached the market square, and Elizabeth, after giving Angus a frown, led them across the cobbles towards the central colonnade.

All around the great pillars were trestle tables laden with produce from the autumn harvest, loaves of pale gold bread dusted with white flour, stacked in neat pyramids, baskets of red tomatoes, yellow carrots, great baskets of apples, red, brown and green. Between each table stood a tall sheaf of corn. On the east side of the colonnade were troughs of glowing coals and above each one an aurochs was being roasted. Next to them simmered great cauldrons of thick soup, steam curling up. The drifting aromas were mouth-watering.

By the time they reached the east side of the colonnade, the procession had already wound its dignified way around two sides of the market square. The earl, his greathorse stepping high, was entering the avenue of the Citadel.

Bareheaded, his mane of red hair swept back and held in place by a circlet of silver, he wore a black boarhide jerkin criss-crossed with scarlet leather baldrics, dirks in each. A black and red tartan cloak hung down behind him, fastened around his neck by a sky blue enamelled brooch. Across his back hung a doubled headed war axe, and a sword hung from a broad leather belt. His arms were bare, with gold torcs around his biceps and bronze bands around his wrists. Tartan trousers were tucked into calf-length boots. From his saddle hung a green boarhide shield embossed in gold, and a bronze helmet.

Anne took a deep breath. “He’s like a Celtic god, out of a legend,” she whispered. Angus had to agree. The man’s size, his craggy features, his heavily muscled arms with their swirling blue tattoes made him look like a being from another world.

Behind him rode his nobles, the lords of the estates within two or three days ride, tall, powerful men who owed him fealty.

“The flower of the city-state of Findias,” Angus murmured. “But with a few weeds here and there.” He could see the Rutena party near the back.

Elizabeth glanced at him with an arched eyebrow, but said nothing.

Certainly some of the passing nobility deserved the tribute. Scattered among the men clad in sombre blues, greens and greys were women in white gowns with full sleeves and high lacy collars above a tartan bodice. A young woman coming up, her head covered in the Fiann custom, but with auburn hair cascading down her back, fine featured, was one. Looking around, she caught sight of the girls and smiled at them. She was high ranking, to judge from her position in the procession, and the pennant on the standard, matching the colours of her plaid, had the name _Lugh_ on it. A blood relation of the earl’s?

Fiann commoners crowded around watching also, mostly men, come from their workshops, with a few women from the market stalls, and boys scattered here and there. The Fiann were standing shoulder to shoulder, but around the Terrans an isolating space formed. The attitudes of Dyers Yard were obviously widespread. Then two boys pushed in, filling the gap on one side. Had they realised who they were standing next to? Their clothes were patched, in the manner of commoners’ children, and one of them had a half grown pup on a leather leash. Angus glanced at the animal, then said to the women, “There’s a sight you won’t see on Earth.”

“It looks like a wolf cub with a broad face,” said Mary. “What is it?”

“A Tomarctus pup. Early Family Canidae.”

Mary looked at him with raised eyebrows, and he said, “A primitive form of wolf.”

“A wolf. That’s what I said,” said Mary.

“About four months old, by the look of it,” said Angus. “The boy will have to get rid of it soon. The earl won’t allow it in the city.”

“But why? It’s just a cub,” said Lea.

“It’s a carnivore, a pack hunter.” Angus gestured to the passing horses. “They know the smell.” Even now the scent was making the horses nearby nervous. They were sidling away from the pup as the ranks approached, their riders tugging at the reins to keep rank and file.

“Keep a tight hold, boy,” said Angus, nodding at the pup. The boy’s eyes widened as he realized he was standing next to a Terran. He stepped away, but as he did so the animal jerked free and scampered away down the cobbled street. The boy tore after him. Angus made a grab at him, missed, but just caught the shoulder of the other boy as he sprang away.

Redraic was an angry young man as he rode up to the back of the procession. His mount snorted and tried to pull ahead. The greathorse knew that his rightful position was not at the back, but up alongside Tana’s mare. But they were late. Joining Tana would disrupt the procession, so he had to stay at the back.

He’d have been in time except that director Charles had travelled back to Massalia Square in a litter, and at walking pace. In Redraic’s opinion, only fat merchants, women and invalids travelled by litter. He and his men had ridden behind, and when they had arrived, the Terran had merely nodded to him and gone inside. Dismissing him as if he were a servant! No wonder the earl despised him. Were all Terrans like that?

By the Morrigan, no, they weren’t. A group of them, to judge from their dress, were in the crowd ahead, Four women, one short and bulky; three slender, two of them quite as tall as Fiann women, and standing like queens. Mother and two daughters, it looked like, one of them a child. The other ... Redriac caught his breath. The Three Graces had smiled upon her. A skin like alabaster, finely featured, hair the colour of ripe corn.

Behind them stood a man Redraic would have taken for Fiann had it not been for his dress. He was as tall as many Fiann, and certainly broader than most. He had black hair and a beard, and stood with his arms folded as he watched the procession. His eyes seemed to rest on Tana as she passed, and Redraic’s mouth tightened.

Suddenly the Terran leant forward and grabbed at something. A few moments later a grey palfrey three ranks up reared, causing the rider, an auburn haired woman, to clutch at the saddle horn to save herself from falling. Next to her, a man in red leather swore, drew his pennant standard from its holder, reversed it, and stabbed downwards at something as though the standard were a lance. Redraic heard a squeal and the horses in front of him whinnied and sidestepped, clearing his line of sight. He saw an animal, a wolf cub, it looked like, pinned to the ground by the standard.

“My lord, no!” cried the woman as the little creature yelped in pain. A boy ran into view and hurled himself at the standard to free the cub. The slender wooden shaft snapped and the pennant fell into the mud. The man leapt swearing from his horse, kicked at the boy, picked the pennant up, and sprang back into the saddle. Another man, on the other side of the woman sidled his horse towards them, raising his leather riding quirt as he did so.

“Lord, husband, no, I beg you, it was an accident,” cried the woman, but the man slashed at the boy across the face, twice, back and forth. Redraic winced. The boy screamed and raised his arm to shield himself. All around them the mounted nobles turned to see what the disturbance was.

“No! Stop! Leave him! Husband, cousin Turig, he is but a child!” cried the woman.

“He has insulted our House, the gutter brat! Look at the pennant!” The black, yellow and red ribbons were splattered with mud. “Orti, grab the little bastard. I will flog him to within an inch of his life.” The man in black leant down, but the boy had already turned and was running up the ranks of mounted nobles, one arm holding the pup, the other wrapped around his face.

Two, three, four, five ranks up. As he passed the horses sidestepped away nervously, causing the neat lines to break up, riders struggling to regain their orderly positions. Why didn’t he just run to the side, thought Redraic. Now he was getting close to Tana…

But as the boy passed, he slipped on a cobble and lurched sideways, bumping into Tana’s mare. The horse reared in fright. Tana managed to keep her seat, but the mare’s hoof caught the side of the boy’s head. He fell to the cobbles and lay motionless. Next to him the cub lay whimpering, licking at its paw. Tana turned to look at the fallen boy with wide eyes as the mare cantered forwards.

Redraic could see some of the commoners were angry. They were muttering and casting black looks at the man with the quirt, but none seemed willing to do anything. Far from being abashed at the consequences of their actions, both men had their whips raised as their rank moved towards the fallen boy. Hadn’t the fools caused enough trouble?

But the names, Turig and Orti. If these were Ortiagon of Aedua and Turig, holder of Rutena, then violence was their second nature.

Then, to Redraic’s astonishment, the Terran man stepped into the procession, grasping the shoulder of a boy next to him, and, weaving between the horses, strode to the boy lying on the cobbles.

The Terran picked up the cub by the scruff of the neck and put it in the arms of the boy next to him. He said something, and pushed the lad towards the onlookers. Then he stooped to lift the unconscious boy.

“You! Get out of it, you filthy Terran.” The ranks were close enough now for Redraic to hear the man Turig speaking. The fool; he had half drawn his sword. If he killed the Terran, there’d be more damned trouble for the earl to sort out. Redraic began to urge his horse forward, but his intervention was not necessary.

The Terran stepped back, out of his way, but into the path of Ortiagon. The Fiann lord too half drew his sword. The Terran stood still, legs astride, staring at the man, his eyes narrowed, the boy in his arms. The auburn haired woman hissed, “No, lord! You may not draw a weapon in Findias, especially in the earl’s presence. Even to chastise this … this dangerous and violent man.” She glanced at the Terran, then looked away. Her nostrils were flared and her lips drawn in a thin line.

There’s one who hates the Terrans with more than ordinary force, thought Redraic - or perhaps just this Terran. How could rescuing a boy be dangerous or violent?

“Hold your tongue, woman! But I’ll not foul my blade.” Ortiagon rammed the sword home scowling, but as he rode past, tried to sidle his horse into the Terran. But the Terran was already stepping around the moving horses, out of the procession.

Redraic dropped back to his place at the rear, and looked hard at the Terran as he passed. Clearly all Terrans were not like their leader. This man had acted to save a Fiann boy when the Fianns themselves had not. Who was he? Why would he do such a thing? His uncle would be interested.


	14. The hurt boy

The last noble rode by, a tall, powerfully built young man who stared at Angus as he passed. Behind him, the minstrels marched to the banging of drums and the wail of bagpipes. As they passed, the market people closed in and crowded around to look at the boy he was carrying. He was pale and breathing fast.

“Hope he’ll all right, master,” said a burly, grizzled man wearing a cobbler’s leather apron. “That were a nasty blow he took. Baintighearna Tana, she’ll be upset. Her mare it was that kicked him, but no blame to her. All the fault of those Aquitani folk. Turig of Rutena and Ortiagon of Aedua, they are. Seen them here before, roistering and brawling, whoring and gambling. Nasty jobs, them.”

“Does anyone know who the boy is? Where is the lad who was with him?” said Angus.

“A tanner’s lad maybe, master, for he stinks of half cured boarhide. But an orphan, maybe, for he is all but in tatters.”

The boy carrying the pup pushed to the front. “He is my cousin, Laeg mac Rochad. Is he ... is he dead, master?”

“No, lad, far from it,” said Angus. “But he may be hurt. I will take him to the hospital in Massalia Square to have him examined.”

The boy gasped and said, “No, master, I will take him home.” Several Fianns frowned, and someone at the back shouted, “Witches den!”

“Ah, horseshit,” growled the cobbler. “Shut your gob, man, ye’ve the brains o’ a plain’s boar.” He turned to the boy and clapped him on the shoulder. “Son, the Terran hospital is a grand place. Me own grandchild went there and he was cured of the wasting disease.”

“Angus,” called Elizabeth, “Angus, we can’t get through.”

“Banmiddach?” said the cobbler, standing on tiptoe to peer over the crowd. Then he bellowed, “Way! Make way for the banmiddach. You, boar brain, move, clear the way for the baintighearna Elizabeth. Way, way!” He strode towards her waving his arms, the crowd parting before him like soil before a plow. On reaching Elizabeth he stopped, pulled his leather cap from his head and bowed. “Baintighearna Elizabeth.” He swept his hand back, gesturing the way to Angus. “This way, baintighearna.”

“Thank you, cobbler Glan,” said Elizabeth, “How is young Glei getting on?”

The cobbler beamed. “Very well, baintighearna, very well. He starts his apprenticeship, to my nephew Glessi the saddlemaker, next month.” He held up his hand and wriggled his fingers. “All, all of his fingers, baintighearna, thanks to you.” He bowed to her, then ushered her to Angus. The two girls, Lea’s hand clasped in Anne’s, followed, with Mary behind.

Elizabeth felt around the boy’s skull, then said, “Nothing broken as far as I can tell. Bring him back to the clinic, Angus. We’ll have to clean him up so I can look at those cuts properly. We’ll keep him under observation for a day or so. Where do his parents live?”

“Rochad his father died in the summer at the Lazar house of the wasting disease, baintighearna,” said an old woman. “His mother died years ago. The boy lives with his grandfather Becaltain, down the bottom Tannery Row.”

“Can someone tell him?”

The Fianns muttered among themselves. “Bottom of Tannery Row? Lepers’ Lane, they call that. More’n my life’s worth”; “Nothing there but hovels”; “Even the cutpurses stay clear.”

The old woman said, “Aye, baintighearna, I will tell him.”

“Master!” The cobbler plucked at Angus’s sleeve and pointed. On the opposite side of the square two mounted men-at-arms were sitting scanning the crowd. Their spears, mounted upright, had black, yellow and red ribbons fluttering near the shaft head.

“Aedua’s hounds!” said the cobbler. “Ye must no’ stay here. This way, master and ladies.” He led the way through the colonnade. As they entered it, a shout told them they had been sighted.

“Quickly now.” He led them across to the west side of the market square, into the arcade, along it then into a cobbler’s shop. Wooden lasts lay in rows on shelves and a steel anvil stood on a bench. Hide hung in sheets on one wall and the smell of glue permeated the air. A startled apprentice sprang up from the bench on which he had been lying. “Ashelon, you layabout. Go watch for holding guards, boy, out there, two or more, on horseback, seeking Terrans. Don’t be seen, quick now.” The boy ran out.

“This way, master. If the ladies will be so good as to mind their skirts on the nails.” The cobbler seized a candle from a holder and led the way down a flight of stairs into a cellar, holding the flame aloft so they could see the treads.

“All right, lad?” he called to the boy with the whimpering pup.

Then he led them across a floor paved with flagstones and up another flight of wooden stairs, along a corridor. He opened a door to bright sunlight. They were in a narrow street.

“Lad, y’know Cut-Throat Passage?”

“Aye, master.”

“Lead the master and ladies down there, then into Harnessmakers’ Street, through the Cutters Yard, along the Glovers’ Terrace and, y’mind that short cut behind the Temple of Arawn? Aye, go through there, say Glan the shoemaker sent you if any question, then through the wagon yard of The Bull Inn, across the courtyard of the Porters’ Lodgings, then across the main avenue at the Treveri Gate and into Wall Street, through to the Terran Hospital in Massalia Square. You got that, lad?” He tapped his head. 

The boy nodded.

“Quick and quiet, eh, lad. The banmiddach, she’ll heal your cousin well. Ye’ll see, he’ll come out as good as new if not better.” He winked at Angus. “Go now, master and ladies. I’ll go back, put the hounds off the scent.” He bowed, turned, and ran back into the house.

“Right, lad, lead the way,” said Angus. “The sooner we get there the sooner Dr Elizabeth can heal your cousin. Yes, and we’ll see what can be done for yon pup.”

Cut-Throat Passage looked and smelt as its name implied. The houses bridged the alley, and it looked dark, dank and foul as they approached it. Angus could smell decay when he entered, but as he shoved half seen objects aside with his boots to make the passage for the women easier, the stench of rotting flesh hit him like a wave. A few times he felt soft ‘things’ give way and break over his boots. He heard the girls gag. As they left the alley Mary said, “We’ll have to soak for a week to get rid of that smell, Elizabeth.”

Glovers Terrace, far more genteel, was a narrow winding street with small double storey timber houses that jettied out over the street, allowing little light to penetrate. Candles could be seen through the small leaded windowpanes, with women bent over workbenches in parlours. Litters rested on the cobbles in front of one, the bearers standing clustered around a tiny drinks stall, clay beakers of chai in their hands. They glanced, then stared at the sight of a Terran man carrying a Fiann boy, and another Fiann boy carrying a whimpering wolfcub. But just then their highborn mistresses emerged, bowed out by a small, rotund shopkeeper, and the bearers hurried back to their litters.

When they reached the Treveri Gate, Angus stopped and looked up the avenue towards the market square before crossing it. No sign of the Rutena liegemen, though of course many folk would have seen a Terran carrying off a Fiann boy, and most would be happy to tell of it to anyone who asked.

He turned to the boy carrying the pup. “See the Stooping Falcon Inn at the gate there?” He jerked with his head towards a jettied timber inn with a painted board hanging on a bracket. “Ask for Drucht the ostler. He has a way with small animals. Say Goba Oenghus the Treveri blacksmith sent you.”

“And Laeg?” The boy was reluctant to leave his cousin.

“What is your name, lad?”

“Niall, master.”

“Well, Niall, when you finished with the pup, come to the Terran hospice for news of your cousin. Then go and tell your grandfather. We keep no one against his will. If he wants to take Laeg from the hospital, he is free to do so.”

They crossed the avenue and Mary said, “Almost back. I know where I am now. I hope I never have to go through that noisome passage again. But did you ever see anything so vicious as those men? What beasts! The one who whipped the boy!”

“He’s lucky that’s all he got,” said Angus.

“That’s no way to look at it, Angus,” said Mary. “The poor boy is whipped and unconscious. It’s an outrage, that’s what it is. Elizabeth, I’ll go on ahead and prepare things at the clinic. Anne, you come with me.” They hurried off.

“The boy is fortunate to be alive at all,” said Angus.

Elizabeth looked at him. “We know that, Angus. But still, a child has been badly hurt through the vicious behaviour of a grown man. Mary is right to be outraged.”

“What’s the point? Will outrage save that boy’s skin? What will it achieve?”

“This from the man who was so outraged this morning that he actually shot a crossbow bolt at a Fiann noble’s wagon?”

“Ah. Point taken, Elizabeth.”

“You could never be cynical, Angus, so don’t try.”

Angus smiled and shook his head. He turned up a narrow street and into Massalia Square, Elizabeth following him. The houses here were tall and built of limestone for the first three storeys. They were set back from the cobbled paving by iron railings. Halfway along the terrace, he stopped before a door painted white with a red cross on it. A Fiann doorman stood outside. A young Fiann woman with a baby wrapped in a linen blanket came out. She glanced at him quickly as he stepped back to let her pass, then pulled a shawl over her lower face and hurried away, head down, staying in the shadow of the buildings.

Angus stood back. Elizabeth lead the way up the stone steps into the house. He followed her through a reception area and into a consulting room.

“Put him there, Angus.” Elizabeth pointed to a bed. “Lea darling, I’ll need hot water and cloths. Then tell Neima we have a child patient with a head injury, probably for observation.”

“And your visiting bag?”

“Good girl. Yes, that first.”

Lea nodded and hurried off, and Elizabeth began gently probing the boy’s head again.

A few minutes later, she stepped back. “Just concussion, as I thought. He’ll wake up with nasty headache. We’ll monitor him for a few days.”

“Angus.”

Angus turned. Charles was at the door.

“A word in my office, if you please.” He turned and stalked off without waiting for a reply.

“Good luck,” called Elizabeth softly as Angus left the room.

The Terran administrative centre in Findias was on the top floor of the central hospital building. Agnes had run the project from rooms on the ground floor but one of Charles’s first acts was to move the administration centre. To free up space for the hospital, he said, but everyone knew it was make it safer for Charles. His office overlooked the square. He was already sitting behind his desk when Angus walked in, not bothering to knock.

The desk was polished hardwood, with a green aurochs leather covering inlaid with gold. Just like the CEO of a big business on Earth, but totally inappropriate on Fianna. Here a man of power would hold court in a great carved chair on a raised dais with a hearth fire behind him. He would thus be close to his people, but at the same time retain superiority. To a Fiann, a desk was a barrier, and conveyed a sense of dislike and distrust rather than superiority. Though in Charles’s case, dislike, distrust as well as superiority were what he felt.

As Angus entered, Charles began. “Angus, what are you doing in Findias? I told you to stay in Treveri.”

“So you did. I came to escort Mary, Elizabeth and her daughter. They wished to watch the festival. Is that an offence now?”

“Everything you touch turns into an offence. You have apparently been shooting crossbow arrows at passing Fiann nobles. I went before the earl today.”

Angus pushed the chair placed squarely in front of the desk to one side so that Charles would have to turn to look at him, and sat down. Charles’ frown deepened, but he made no comment.

“Is that what the earl said?”

“I will ask the questions. Is this true?”

Angus leant back in the chair. “Tell me what I am charged with and I will answer your questions.”

“You are charged with attacking the lords of Aedua and Rutena, and their families, defenceless women and children, when they were within your palisade.”

“Am I charged with trying to kill them?”

“No, you are not. Now is this true, Angus?”

“Strange that I am charged with shooting arrows at them, but not attempting to kill them. If I shot at them at short range, I could hardly miss.”

“Will you answer the question!”

“One of the men praised the Baian for killing Terran women and children. I responded by shooting an arrow at the wagon.”

“You shot an arrow at the Fiann. You know we are struggling to re-establish ourselves here, and you indulge your feelings by shooting an arrow at the Fiann.”

“Why are we struggling to re-establish ourselves? You inherited an established, fully working Project from Agnes. Have you screwed up, Charles?”

Charles’s mouth tightened. “As crass as ever, I see. We are discussing your behaviour, not the Project. You admit to shooting those arrows. I have just been told also that this afternoon you disrupted the earl’s procession, and acted threateningly towards that same noble.”

“He was whipping a child.”

“What he was doing is irrelevant. We are discussing your actions, not his. Your actions which show us as crass and insensitive, brawlers and disrupters.”

“In that case you’ll be pleased to know that the Fiann around us thoroughly approved of my actions.”

“You disrupted the Samhain procession. The earl would certainly not have approved of that.”

“How do you know? Have you asked him?”

“I don’t need to ask a question like that. I’d seen him earlier, about your aggressive behaviour at Treveri.”

“He called you in to tell you he wanted to charge me with ... what, aggressive behaviour?”

“That was your phrase, not mine.”

“Charles, did the earl summon you about what I did this morning or not?”

“The earl does not summon me, Angus.”

Angus stared at him. “Of course he does. You have delusions of grandeur, Charles. The earl is the ruler. We are servants, mere advisors. He calls, we go; that’s our job. If you haven’t realized that, no wonder the Project is in trouble.”

Charles’s eyes narrowed, but as he opened his mouth, there was a knock at the door, it opened and the Fiann doorman put his head in.

“I said we were not to be disturbed on any account,” snapped Charles. “Don’t you understand orders?”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but Dr Elizabeth said I was to come, on account of the boy Laeg mac Rochad. Said it was urgent, sir.”

“What is urgent, fellow? Get on with it, will you?”

“Boy’s grandfather is here, sir, and he wants to take the boy away. Nurse Neima, she’s in there arguing with him, but he’s determined, she says. Says, with respect, sir, says we need Ironrod. Dr Elizabeth’s on her way, sir, but said to fetch Goba Oenghus.” The doorman looked at Angus.

“Ironrod?” said Charles, with a look of distaste.

“That’s what they call me,” said Angus. He stood up. “I’d better go.”

“You can’t go. We are in the middle of a meeting in which disciplinary action is being considered.”

“You’ve already decided that, Charles. All you’re doing is ticking boxes to justify it. A little thing like me not being here won’t make any difference. This is more important, so excuse me.”

An old man and the boy, now dressed and leaning on the old man, were in the ward, facing Nurse Neima. She was standing barring the door, arms akimbo. She moved to one side as Angus and Elizabeth entered, and stood with folded arms, glowering at the old man.

Angus said to the old man, “You are taking Laeg away, goodman?”

“Aye.” The old man gripped the staff he carried tightly. “I am Becaltain the saddlemaker. This boy is my grandson. I am taking him. Let no man try to stop me.”

Angus stepped back to hold the door open. “No man will try to stop you, saddlemaker Becaltain. No one stays in the Terran hospital except by their own free will.”

“We are free to go?”

“You are free to go or stay as you choose. I have soul-bond with Laeg, for I plucked him from under the hooves of the horse of lord Turig of Rutena. He was injured, so I brought him here for banmiddach Elizabeth to examine. She knows much about broken heads and children.” He gestured open handed at Elizabeth, who stood to one side with hands clasped in front of her. She gave a courteous nod to the old man. He touched his forehead. “But as the Algonim is greater than the Treveri, so are your ties greater than mine. So if you think he will be better cared for elsewhere, you must take him.”

The man looked at him narrow eyed. “You are Goba Oenghus, him they call Ironrod.”

“I am Goba Oenghus.”

The old man shifted his eyes to Elizabeth. “Laeg is hurt, baintighearna?”

“He is hurt, goodman Becaltain. You see how he cannot walk unaided. The hurt is to the head,” she touched the side of her own head, “which may be more serious than a broken limb, for it contains the essence of being. I think his head is sound, but I would like to watch him for a day or so.”

The old man frowned. “You will watch him? With your eyes?”

“Foolish old man,” snapped Neima. “You think banmiddach Elizabeth will bewitch your worthless grandson? With thirty patients and more, you think the banmiddach has nothing better to do than sit and stare at a tanner’s boy all day long? It is I who will be watching Laeg, and I will call banmiddach Elizabeth if Laeg’s condition worsens. But take him away, yes, take him away. Then no one will be able to help him when he gets sick.”

Elizabeth smiled. “Peace, nurse Neima. Goodman Becaltain, do you have someone to help you if Laeg gets sick? Someone who knows about head injuries?”

The old man shook his head. “I am a widower. I live with my daughter Rona. She is mother to Niall, Laeg’s cousin. She knows such herb lore as do the women in my family, but little about broken heads.”

“This is a problem, saddlemaker Becaltain,” said Angus. “If Laeg goes with you and gets sick, then no one can help him. With the head, who can tell what might happen. If he stays here, Laeg will be well cared for. Banmiddach Elizabeth knows about illness as you know about saddlemaking. Speak to cobbler Glan in the market square; he will tell you. But it is up to you to decide: stay or go.”

“I would rather go with you, grandfather,” said Laeg. “There is only nurse Neima, and she scolds me.”

Becaltain’s face split into a sudden grin. “Aye, lad, I can well imagine that.”

“I only scolded him for getting up and going to the window,” said Neima. “If he catches cold, that is another thing for banmiddach Elizabeth to worry about in your worthless grandson.”

Becaltain burst out laughing, and turned to Elizabeth. “Ah, my mother, I see my grandson is in good hands here. If he stays, may I visit him?”

“At any time you wish, goodman Becaltain,” said Elizabeth.

“You must stay, lad,” he said, turning to the boy, “for they can care better for you than I can. It will be but for a few days. I will sent Niall to see you and will come myself in the morning and the afternoon. “

“But leave that stick outside, old man,” said Neima. “I want no weapons in my ward, if you please.”


	15. The Terran hospital

The Terrans guard their hospital well, thought Redraic as he swung down from his horse. Like many of the grand houses in the square, the door was oak, with iron studs, but before it stood a doorman carrying a staff, a man as tall as he was, and half again as wide. He helped Tana from her litter, and they walked across to the steps.

The doorman eyed them as they approached. “Lord,” he said, bowing his head, but standing his ground in front of the door.

“A boy was brought here yesterday,” Redraic said. “A boy with an injured head. We wish to see him.”

The doorman looked at him, then at Tana. Then he nodded. “Such a boy was brought here, lord. You may go in to enquire.” He turned, rapped on the door, and stepped away, gesturing to them to enter.

A young woman was sitting behind a desk facing the entrance door. Ha, the elder daughter from the procession yesterday. But she addressed herself to Tana. “Good day, miss,” she said, smiling. “What may we do for you?”

Redraic frowned. This was no way to address a lady of his sister’s rank. “This is lady Tana, and I am Redraic of Tolosa.”

The maiden’s smile did not falter, nor did her eyes move from Tana’s face. “What may we do for you, lady Tana?”

“There was an accident, and I was ... a boy was hurt in the procession yesterday. I ... we come to enquire after the health of the boy.”

“I see. May I know your reason for inquiring, lady Tana?”

This was insufferable. Who did these Terrans think they were? “Our reasons for inquiring are our own,” he said, “and we wish to see this boy immediately.”

“Nay, brother,” said Tana, placing her hand on his arm, “I’m sure this maiden has reason for these questions.” She turned to the Terran maiden. “May I know to whom I speak?”

“I am Anne, daughter of Dr Elizabeth, director of medicine on Fianna and head of paediatrics. The reason that I ask these questions, lady Tana, is that we have had trouble in the past with people intent on disrupting the running of the hospital. Though it is clear that this is not your purpose,” and she smiled again - she had a beautiful smile, “I am required to ask.” She looked at Tana and waited.

This was a very forward way for a maiden to speak. He’d heard of the lack of modesty of Terran women compared to Fiann women, but also that the difference turned out to be more apparent than real. Some Fiann men had found out this, to their chagrin, when acting on seeming forwardness. Certainly this young woman acted as if her behaviour was completely normal. Anne was a good name for such a maiden: feminine but strong, graceful and dignified.

“I understand,” said Tana. “I wish to see the boy, miss Anne, because I was involved in the incident in which the boy was hurt. It was my horse that kicked him.”

The maiden nodded. “The incident happened yesterday …” she said, and Tana immediately replied, “Oh yes, but I was required to wait on the earl yesterday, so I sent my maid to inquire, and she was told that they thought the boy was all right, but she was not allowed to see him, so I came today, and if there is anything to be paid, I will pay it.”

The maiden smiled, got up and took one of Tana’s hands. “Indeed, lady Tana, I believe you. You show a right concern. We protect our patients, and you may see him. But you may have to wait awhile.”

Ah, thought Redraic, it was as he suspected. The boy was being hidden away for some nefarious Terran purpose. The Terrans would fob them off with excuses until they got tired of waiting and went away. Well, he would not put up with that. He drew himself up. “We do not wish to wait. We wish to see him now.”

The maiden turned to look at him. “In that case, I suggest you go and look for him. He is out.” The smile had gone, and so had the gentle tone. She thought he was being offensive, and did not hesitate to let him know.

“Out? Where out?” What did this mean? Had the Terrans taken him somewhere else?

“He is not here. He came through a little while ago, saying he was going on an errand for Nurse Neima. He appears well, you see, and the nurse thought the exercise would do him good.”

“You have let him out of your hospital?”

She looked at him intently. “Do you think, lord Redraic, that we keep your people here against their will?”

He did not answer, and she sighed and said, “No Fiann stays here against his or her will. They are free to go at any time. If you care to wait, he should be back shortly and you may see and speak to him.” She gestured to a chalico hide chair, and turned to Tana. “Lady Tana, would you like to see around the hospital?”

“Oh yes, if you would show me,” said Tana, then added, nodding, “I saw you yesterday, watching the procession.”

“And I, you,” said the Terran, her eyes sparkling. “You smiled at me, lady Tana.”

“And you at me, miss Anne,” and Tana laughed. She turned to look at Redraic. “May I go, brother?”

There could be no danger here, he thought, especially if Tana was in the company of the Terran maiden. Her open face and direct manner could not hide a scheming mind. Anyway, he would go with them. He nodded, and walked to the door, but the maiden said, “As we will be visiting the maternity section, it would be best if your brother remains here. You are free to stay, lord Redraic, but please do not leave this room.”

So direct. No Fiann maiden would dare to address him so. Yet her voice was sweet and musical, and held no hint of brashness. It must be that the Terrans were accustomed to speak so - though, custom or not, this maiden had already shown she would not put up with what she considered rudeness. And clearly here she was under instruction to direct him so, probably by her father, so she was just behaving as a dutiful daughter. He nodded again, and opened the door for them to pass through.

After the maidens had gone, Redraic walked to the front windows and looked out into the square. The bearers had put down Tana’s litter next to the mounting block outside the hospital house and were squatting next to it. Redraic’s horse was tied to the railing next to the mounting block, and his groom chatting to the bearers.

The morning sun was glinting on the windows of a house opposite and further along a servant was collecting horse-dung from the cobbles. This was a never-ending task in the city, in spite of the restrictions, but in most areas it was just left or at the most, sluiced away. That was another thing the Terrans were supposed to have fixed, and hadn’t. And his uncle had spared no expense for them: they’d been in the Treveri hunting lodge, but when the Baian threatened to attack, his uncle had moved them to Findias. Not into the nomads’ quarter where, in Redraic’s opinion, they deserved to be, but into Massalia Square. This was where the wealthy merchants lived, high up in the hill, and his uncle had rented three houses side by side, each with its own water supply.

He turned and walked across to the windows in the opposite wall. As in many great houses in Findias, these looked down on an inner courtyard, a place where the women of the family could enjoy the open air with less of the city stench, and not be subjected to public view. But the Terrans had treated this as a lightwell, and had enlarged the original windows to twice their height. He had never seen such tall windows. If his uncle had not repealed the window tax, here would have been a sizeable source of income. But he could see why they had done it. This room was brighter than any he had ever been in. Maybe there was more to these Terrans than he had thought.

He turned to look around the room and noticed paintings on the walls. He walked across to one of them, a landscape of the Treveri Hills in autumn, with the Algonim towering behind. The grey boulders and golden red and orange of the hills stood in stark contrast to the snowy whiteness of the mountains. He could almost feel the cold winds blowing across the hills. He walked across to another, and caught his breath. It showed the light of the rising sun on the citadel. For the first time he could see why Findias was called the City of Light. The colours of the fortress walls flowed from an amber at the foot to a light yellow on the battlements. Every tower had a subtly different glow. The details were astonishing; even the crenellations were shown.

As he stood examining it, he heard Tana’s voice as they came up the corridor. “It is lady Elizabeth who decides all this, Anne? You have no men doctors who tell her what to do?”

“Tell my mother what to do? In paediatrics? They wouldn’t dare, Tana! Anyway, she is the medical director on Fianna. She tells them what to do.”

Redraic watched them as they came back into the reception room. They could be sisters, he thought. Both tall and slender, one blonde, one auburn. And now friends, it seemed.

“A woman tells men what to do?” said Tana. “And they do it?”

“They do, Tana. Without question. My mother has served on four colonial planets. Her level of experience in her field is second to none. On Lhasa, her last full posting, she established three teaching hospitals and nation-wide medical centres within five years.”

“Five years?” said Tana, “Will she do that here?”

The Terran maiden’s mouth tightened. “She wishes to. But … progress has been slow for the past few months.”

“I am sure it is not lady Elizabeth’s fault,” said Tana.

The maiden’s eyes flashed. “There is no question of that, Tana. Medicine is the only field that has made any progess at all. In all other fields … In public health engineering, we have men with doctorates, nemeds, shoeing horses. Men who have designed and built water supply and sewage systems for cities on three planets.”

“I do not believe it is earl Ceofrin’s fault,” said Redraic.

“I never said it was, lord Redraic. Yet progess has all but stopped. And at the beginning it all seemed so promising. He made us so welcome.”

Tana nodded. “I felt that too. Red, you were on the estate, but I was here, with Mother. A welcoming banquet was held, and I begged my uncle to let me serve at his table. I remember lady Agnes speaking, about a new beginning, a grasping of hands across the stars, a meeting of kin too long apart. She was … amazing. So inspiring, so fluent and clear, so confident, yet so friendly. Except for a few crusy old councillors, everyone seemed happy and smiling.” She turned to the maiden. “I remember seeing lady Elizabeth there: she looked like a queen. I served her at the head table. But, then Fuill Rock happened.”

“And everything stopped,” said the maiden.

“I do not believe we should be speaking of these matters,” said Redraic.

“Oh, but if only we knew what the problem is, why the earl won’t let us help the people of Findias. That’s all we want to do.”

“Really?” said Redraic. He shouldn’t encourage her, but those big blue eyes lit up when she spoke.

“Of course that’s all. We have no hidden agenda. Really.”

“I do not understand that phrase.”

“You think we have some motive other than what we profess. Some plan of … I don’t know, overthrowing the earl or something.”

He looked at her. “Do you?”

She sighed. “Of course not.” Then she smiled. She had a beautiful smile. “But then I would say that, wouldn’t I, even if we did. Really though, nothing could be further from our minds. We only want to help.”

Her earnestness was so appealing. “I believe that of you, miss Anne. I believe you would always only want to help. But what of the others – your leader, director Charles.”

“He’s the tall man with yellow hair?” said Tana. “I don’t like him. He kept looking at me during the banquet. He was creepy.”

Redraic frowned. “You have not spoken of this before.”

“Oh, my uncle saw, and spoke to lady Agnes. She send him a message. I think she was very angry. Then he stopped. Perhaps he thought … I don’t know … that I was a servant or something.”

“I dislike the man even more now. I met him yesterday. He seems to think he’s better than everyone else.”

The Terran maiden looked away and said softly, “We find him … a little difficult also. But being a Terran, he is easier for us to understand. He has no hidden agenda as far as Fianna is concerned. He has ambitions, but they are not here on Fianna.”

“But he wishes to use Fianna as a tool to fulfil those. He cares nothing for this world. He is narrow in outlook and arrogant in attitude. He appoints puppies to tell us what to do, and expects us to bow and scrape in gratitude. That is why, miss Anne, progress on your Project has stopped.”

“My uncle says that?” said Tana.

“Your uncle …?” said the maiden.

Redraic glared at his sister. The Terran maiden’s gentleness and openness had lulled the caution he knew he ought to have used when talking with a Terran, and here Tana was making matters worse. “My uncle is the earl.”

The maiden covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh dear. I’ve been saying things I shouldn’t. Please don’t repeat it.” She looked at Redraic and he shrugged his shoulders. He had said far more that he shouldn’t than she had.

“What have you said that is not common knowledge? But I will not, if you wish it.”

“Thank you, lord Redraic.” She looked him full in the face for a few moments and he knew she would expect him to honour his promise. Well, he would. A maiden like this: who could betray her confidence?

She turned to Tana, “I must mind my tongue. Returning to my mother, Tana, what matters here is not your gender, but your knowledge, skill and competence. Everyone here acknowledges her excellence in our field.”

“I wish I could meet your mother, Anne.”

“She’s in consultation now. She’ll be out in about two hours.” Then the maiden gave a little laugh. “If you want to see men deferring to women, you should be here when Mary is in full sail.”

“Who is Mary, Anne?”

“Dr Mary is our midwife. She is a wonderful person, but does she make everyone hop about!”

“She sounds like my grandmother, on the family estate. When my father comes to Findias to attend my uncle, she runs the estate. Every Monday she sits in the great barn, the steward standing by, and has all the gangers report directly to her. Every man gets his instructions and woe betide him if he does not carry them out, and in a timely manner.” She smiled. “Our Samhain feast is part harvest feast and part celebration, on the part of the men, that my father is back in charge.”Her brow creased and she added, “Not that he came this year: our brother was killed at Fuill Rock. My uncle excused his attendance.”

“I am so sorry,” said the maiden. “Fuill Rock was a devastating blow for everyone.” She paused a moment, then said, “Yes, Dr Mary does sound like your grandmother. My mother is in charge, but Dr Mary takes over when she is not here. The captain and the sergeant major. We love Mary, but we count the minutes until Mother gets back. Your grandmother would get on well with Dr Mary. Two strong women, they would recognise and respect each other immediately.”

“Lady Mary is not here now, then, Anne?”

“No, she is out on a case. I don’t know when she will be back.”

Tana looked around and saw Redraic. “Oh, Red,” she said, “this is a wonderful place. Compared to our hospital at Goldsetter’s …” she shook her head, and he frowned at her. It would not do to show disloyalty to the Fiann in front of the Terrans. To change the subject he gestured to the painting, and said, “Look at this, Tana.”

She came, looked and raised her hands to her mouth. “Oh, this is beautiful. Oh, Anne, whose work is this? A fhilíd, surely? To so capture the spirit of Findias?”

The maiden smiled. “A banfhilíd, Tana. It is my mother’s work.”

Tana turned to look at her. “Lady Elizabeth? She did this? A healer, a woman of great learning and a poet of power as well. Red, you must agree, a banmiddach, a nemed and a banfhilíd, all in one.”

Redraic nodded. “Indeed.” The Three Graces smiled upon the mother as well as the daughter.

“Yes, Tana, my mother is indeed all of those, and also one who loves your country.”

Redraic turned and looked down at her. “I did not know that your people loved my country, maid Anne. But I see it must be so, to paint so.”

Tana looked around. “ Oh Anne, I wish …” she paused, then went on. “It is all so clean, so quiet, every one seems so busy and they all know exactly what to do. And the mothers we saw, they looked so happy with their babies. It must be wonderful to be able to help them so. I wish…”

The maiden looked at her and waited.

“May I come again, Anne, and meet lady Elizabeth? She sounds so-”


	16. The missing boy

They all swung round as a door burst open and a Findian nurse rushed in, followed by a peasant boy. “Where is Laeg mac Rochad? Has anyone seen him?” she cried.

“He has gone out, nurse Neima,” said the Terran maiden. “He said you sent him out to fetch a flagon of lamp oil.”

“Nay, miss Anne, I did no such thing. I would never have let him out yet. But nurse Rosaleen, she says she saw him leaning out of the window and heard a man’s voice speaking to him. And here is his cousin Niall, saying he saw that lord Turig, that man who struck him, riding away with a sack on his saddle. That evil man has tricked him and has stolen him, I am sure.”

“But why would he do that?”

“Because he is a bad man, miss Anne. He seeks to harm the boy, I am sure.”

“No, I cannot image a Fiann nobleman doing such a thing. It is just some prank of Laeg’s.”

“No, baintighearna, no!” the boy burst out. “Laeg would never do that. Grandfather told him to stay and he would stay. That red leather man, he would have had someone tell him that my grandfather had sent to fetch him, secret like, so Laeg crept out. I am sure, sure, baintighearna. That man is evil, baintighearna.”

The maiden shook her head again. “A Fiann nobleman, in the middle of Findias-”

“I fear, maid Anne,” said Redraic, “that this nurse and this boy may be correct. I know of this man, Turig of Rutena. He is vicious and vindictive. I saw what happened myself. He struck the boy once and would have beaten him had not your Terran man rescued him. I would not put abduction past him.”

The maiden looked at him, eyes wide. “But if that is so, what can we do? Where, in all of Findias, could we hope to find him?”

“He will sell Laeg for a slave, baintighearna,” said the boy. “He will sell him to the Kelb.”

“What talk is this?” said Redraic. “The earl has banned slave auctions in Findias.”

The boy shook his head. “They do not sell in Findias, tighearna, but outside, at the quay on the river, at the Red Sails Tavern.”

“You are sure, lad?” said Redraic.

“I am sure, tighearna. My friend Maine, he vanished last year, and we traced him to the Red Sails. The Kelb took him.”

“What! A Findian boy sold into slavery? Why did you not appeal to the earl?”

The boy looked at him. “Why should the earl care, tighearna? He was just a peasant boy.”

“Because he was a Findian! The earl will not suffer his people to be sold into slavery.”

“If this is true,” said the Terran maiden, “we must act at once. Nurse Neima, please send one of the escort men to tell my mother. She is in Fetter Lane, tending the son of Maeb the weaver. But I must go to this Red Sails Tavern.”

“You?” said Tana. “You cannot go there, a noble maiden.”

“I must, Tana. He is our responsibility, Terran responsibility. If no one else is here to go, I must go.”

“Well then, you cannot go alone. Red, you must escort maid Anne.”

Redraic shook his head. “I cannot leave you here alone. First I must take you back to Tolosa House. Then I will accompany you, maid Anne.”

The maiden shook her head. “I thank you, lord, but I have no time to wait.”

“Miss Anne, Dr Elizabeth would not let you go,” said Neima. “It is too dangerous for a maiden, for you especially, to go alone.”

The maiden looked at her, hesitating. “Oh, I wish Angus were here.”

“Goba Oenghus is here, miss Anne,” said Neima. “He is with director Charles.”

“Oh.” Her face fell. “Well, I will see if I can speak to him. Tana, I am sorry to leave you like this, but please call at the hospital at any time. I would be more than happy to take you around more of the wards, and to introduce you to my mother and Dr Mary.”

“I will not keep you, Anne, but thank you. I would love to come again.” She held out her hand. The Terran maiden took it briefly, curtsied to Redraic, then ran out, taking a light grey hooded cloak from a wall hook as she passed.

Tana turned to Redraic. “Oh Red, this place is wonderful. You wouldn’t let me say before, but it is so different to Goldsetters. You know yourself there is always groaning and screaming, and no one can get any rest. Here the wards are so quiet and peaceful. If anyone is in pain, they give them a tablet which takes the pain away, and helps them sleep. And it is so calm and ordered here. The nurses are all young Findian maidens, smiling and friendly, and knowing what to do and when, and who to ask if they don’t. Everything is so organised, everything is so clean, so neat and tidy. I want to come again, I really do. Anne is in training. I want to see what she does. It seems so... fulfilling.”

Tana lowered her voice. “Lady Elizabeth, Anne’s mother - I know you don’t like the Terrans, brother, but the way that patients and nurses speak of her: in almost a tone of worship, as the children speak of the mother guardian in the orphanage, ruling by love and wisdom. I’m almost afraid to meet her, but I would not miss it for anything. I’m sure she would not forget, but perhaps I will leave a small gift and a note to Anne.”

Redraic frowned. “You cannot treat the Terran maiden as a social equal, Tana.”

“And why not? She is clearly of gentle birth and breeding. She is a lady, delicate in speech and manner. She is intelligent and poised. And with a mother as queenly as lady Elizabeth? She is an equal in every way, Red.”

She had a point, he had to admit. And in fact he would be more than happy to regard that beautiful maiden as a social equal. But there were other implications.

“I do not know that Mother would approve, Tana. The Terrans are here under sufferance only, and their Project is going badly. Our uncle does not speak to them with any approval. This Dr Elizabeth: how can it be that she gives the orders? That is not a woman’s place.”

“Oh rubbish, Red. Look at Granmama. Does she not order everyone around, and they all hop to her command?”

“That is different. She is known and respected-”

“It is not different at all. Dr Elizabeth is also known and respected. She has earned that respect. If you had heard the staff speaking of her, you would see it too. And-”

The door opened and nurse Neima rushed in. “Lady, have you seen miss Anne?”

Tana stared at her. “She went to get that man, Goba Oenghus, the one that was with the director, to go with her.”

“Director Charles would not let her see him, and now she has disappeared, and I fear - she is so worried about the boy who was taken - I fear she has gone off to find him.”

“Alone?” said Redraic. “Through Findias? She wouldn’t, she couldn’t. No maiden of gentle birth would do that.”

“She would, lord. She knows the danger, but her fear for the boy overcomes her fear of the danger. She puts her duty before her own safety, as Dr Elizabeth does. She has gone off alone, lord, I’m sure of it.”

She took a deep breath and said, “Lord, miss Anne is Dr Elizabeth’s daughter. If anything happens to her in Findias, whether by malice or ignorance, it would be a terrible repayment to Dr Elizabeth, after all she has done. Dr Elizabeth and Dr Mary, they have brought more Findian babies alive and healthy into this world in this last half year than Goldsetters in the last three. The young matrons know, lord. They come secretly, hooded and cloaked, maidservant and mistress, for they want their babies to live and be whole. If you love Findias, lord, find that maiden.”

Tana turned to him. “Red, this is all your fault. You are too over-protective. Here I am safe in this place, while Anne is out on the streets of Findias because you would not escort her. If anything happens to her, it will be our fault. Go, go now, find her and stay with her, bring her safely back here.”

“But you-”

“Brother, I am safe here. I will not leave until you come back, come back with her. As you love me, and go seek her. I will go to director Charles and demand to see Goba Oenghus. Go you, now.” She turned him around and pushed him towards the door.

“But where will she be?”

“Somewhere between here and the nomads’ quarter, brother. And if she enters there she will never come out. I would not go there even with you and she is alone, innocent of the dangers. Go, brother!” She turned him round and pushed him towards the door.

Outside he stopped and thought a moment. Innocent, yes. She must be, to risk herself so. But any maiden would know to be cautious. So which way might she have gone? The busiest, where she might escape notice among the people passing by, and also feel protected by their presence. So she’d be on the wagon street down the nose of the hill. And how far along? Please Belenos she would not reach the nomads’ quarter before he reached her, for Tana was right. A maiden like her would get in but never out again except as sold goods, bound and gagged, in a sack slung across the back of a horse. Dealers in human flesh lived there, and the other dwellers were not much better: killers and thugs, thieves, dream smokers and their dealers, prostitutes and their pimps - the dregs of Findias.

He’d go on foot, and make better time by cutting through the Shambles, then joining the wagon street at the Cock and Spur Tavern. It would be muddy but quick. He’d get there first, and wait for her.

He reached the Cock and Spur, glanced left and right, then climbed the tavern steps for a better view. Halfway up, an old man standing at the balcony rail, called down to him. “Looking for a lady, lord, young, grey cloak and hood?”

Redraic stared at him. “You’ve seen her?”

“Just past, lord, heading down,” he gestured, “but slavers close behind. They’ll take her before Fetter Lane. Two men, one tall, red cap, another shorter, green hood. Better hurry, lord.”

Fifty paces down the hill, a red cap was bobbing in the crowd. Redraic leaped over the rail, and started running down the street. “Way, way,” he called and people turned, saw him and stepped aside. He was not more than a wagon length away when he saw her grey cloak and hood, with Redcap and Greenhood right behind, all but flanking her. About to strike.

“Hai,” he shouted, and Greenhood turned and saw him. A moment later both men swung away and ducked into an alley.

He reached her and touched her shoulder. Her head jerked around to look at him, her eyes wide, her mouth opening to scream. “Miss Anne, it’s Redraic.”

Her body seemed to sag, and he took her arm to support her. “It’s all right, you’re safe now.”

“I didn’t realise…” she whispered.

“Aye, well…” Saying _I told you so_ was tempting, but not likely to help; she’d already learned the lesson. Her words and the tight grasp of her hand on his arm was proof of that.

“They were behind me from the market square, I could sense them, right there, stalking me, just waiting, waiting …”

“They’re gone now.”

“Really? They won’t come again?” She looked at him, eyes still wide and fearful.

“Really, miss Anne. They only tackle the weak and helpless.”

She stiffened slightly, then said, “I suppose I am, here. Thank you, lord Redraic,” and she smiled at him. His stomach flipped. No wonder they had thought the abduction worth the risk. A maiden like this, a lady, young, slim, beautiful, educated: she’d sell for a saddle bag of rubies to the right buyer. His uncle would turn Findias upside down to find her, but within a quarter of a day she and her abductors would be deep in the hills, untraceable.

Should he tell her, to drive the point home? No, not now. She was still frightened and grasping his arm, with which he was perfectly content. Better to just keep walking, until she calmed.

A hundred, two hundred paces, then he said, “Why, miss Anne, is it so important to find this boy? He is not your kin.”

“Oh, he is, lord Redraic. All Fianns are our kin. We care for all, high and low. But in particular, this boy was taken from our hospital. He is our responsibility. In persuading his grandfather to leave him there, we implicitly guaranteed his safety.”

“But he left of his own accord.”

“He is a child. He is not responsible for his actions. I should not have let him go out. I should have checked with the nurse. Yet… I did not want him to feel we did not trust him. We had told him he was free to go. If I then said he must wait while I checked he was telling the truth, it would have destroyed his trust in us.” She glanced at him. “I don’t know why I am telling you all of this. I’m sure you are not interested.”

“You mistake me, miss Anne. I am very interested in knowing why you are so concerned about this boy from the slums.”

She glared at him. “Do you think it makes any difference to me if he is from the slums or from the earl’s household?”

“Indeed, madam, I see that it does not. But I enquire because I am interested in how the Terrans think, in why they do what they do.” True in part, but this Terran in particular.

They reached the city gate, and as they passed through, the men on duty saluted him, staring at his companion. At the first salute the Terran maiden lifted her hand, and walked with her gaze fixed on the paving.

Well beyond, walking through the market gardens towards the quay, she said, “Are you the captain of the city guard, my lord?”

Ah, they were back to formal address. “One of them, my lady. There are four captains. I am the most junior, as most recently appointed.”

“Oh. Is it your duty to enforce the law?”

“No, just to guard the city walls.”

“But… but if you saw the law being broken, you would try to stop it, wouldn’t you? If you saw a boy being sold into slavery?”

“You mean beyond the city walls? If he had been abducted in Findias, or was a Findian boy, yes.”

“But not otherwise?”

“No, my lady. If the boy was taken in another land, the earl feels he has not the right to interfere.”

“But surely….” She stopped, and Redraic glanced at her. Her jaw was clenched, her face set. Then she turned and looked into his face. “Do you have slaves?”

“No, not personally. My family has slaves, both debt and war. The earl requires all the noble families to take them, to ensure the law is complied with.”

“You seem a good man, lord Redraic. How can you justify taking away the liberty of another man? Or woman?” Then she put a hand over her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be asking questions like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because we, the Terrans, are not supposed to make cultural judgements. It is alienating and considered unfair.”

“But clearly it is important to you. So I will explain it, as I see it. My uncle allows it because it is better than the alternative. A war captive cannot be allowed to return to his own people, for then he would simply attack us again. So we must either kill him or enslave him. Which is better?”

“Have no wars?”

He smiled. “That is another, much wider matter, and not one which Findias can control. It would take a week to discuss that.” Which he would happily give, to have those bright enquiring eyes fixed on his face.

“And debt slaves?” she said.

“My uncle has protected them by law, for they are usually children, sold by their parents.”

“How can anyone sell their own child?”

“The families fall into debt, so have no choice. With no money for food, the child might otherwise starve. But a child debt slave can be sold only to those who can and will help them. They must be apprenticed to a trade, and be freed after ten years, or the age of seventeen, whichever is the later. They are then equipped to earn a living. Again, which is better, starvation or slavery?”

“A state in which families are not forced into penury by exploitation?”

He smiled at her earnest face. “Again, my lady, a much wider issue than you started with, and again something not, or largely not, within my uncle’s control. But he does what he can.”

“Does he?”

“Yes, he does. Do you doubt it? When my grandfather came to power, slavery was far more widespread. My uncle has continued the policy of constraining it.”

“But he is the ruler, he can do what he likes. He could just free all slaves, couldn’t he?”

“No, my lady, he could not. He is the ruler because he has the support of his barons. That support depends on many factors: family ties; belief in his wisdom, competence and judgement; goodwill. But also, strongly, self interest. All the barons have slaves, and if he freed all slaves, just like that,” and he snapped his fingers, “he would face such anger and resistance as would paralyse his rule. He would then face a challenge, and fall. So, my lady Anne, he cannot do as he likes, not at all. He sees the need for change, but many of the barons do not. He must persuade sufficient to support him if change is to happen, and even then, it must be brought about cautiously. He fought long and hard to bring in the laws of debt slavery. He fought long and hard to allow the Terran Project to take place. The conservative factions in the court opposed both of those, strongly. And right now, he is being weakened by your leader. Many barons questioned his decision to allow you to come, and now that your project is failing, more and more want you gone.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

“I would not expect you to, miss Anne, but I am sure that lady Elizabeth does. Your leader, however, does not. Or perhaps he is mulish enough to believe he is playing a game that he can win. He cannot, for in his game are only losers. The Terran Project, the House of Lugh, Findias, Fianna. His narrow vision endangers all.”

The Terran maiden was silent for a moment, then said, “Surely if he is told …?”

Redraic shook his head. “He has been told, in many ways, but does not believe. He cannot grasp that what my uncle has told him, that his directors are not good enough, is the truth and there are no other reasons, no ‘hidden agenda’ as you would call it, miss Anne. Instead he believes in plots. Plots that his own people are scheming against him. Perhaps they are, but that is Terran business, not ours. Our enemies laugh to see that mighty, all-powerful Earth is so foolish that it can appoint the smallest man to the greatest position. It angers us.” He stopped, then gave a laugh and said, “You are a dangerous maiden, miss Anne. Every time I meet you I find myself talking of matters on which I should be silent.”

She looked up into his face and said, “I too, lord. But I thank you, for I understand better now. And surely it is good that we know what the other is thinking, Terran and Fiann?”

“Perhaps.” Or perhaps not: he would definitely not like her to know everything he was thinking. She would slap his face and storm off. “My uncle would not be pleased at my outburst, though. He has told me that this is Terran business and Terrans must deal with it. We are little people, you and I. Still, though we cannot change much, we are changing something. Here we are, a Terran and a Fiann, working together to save a Fiann boy.”

“That is how it should be, lord Redraic. Do you think we shall find him?”

“If he is offered for auction, yes, miss Anne.”

“Who are these men, that deal in slaves here?”

“Not all evil but in places like this they often are. Do not stray from my side, miss Anne. Telemon Quay is more dangerous than the nomads’ quarter.” He held out his arm again, and without hesitation she took it. The grip of the slim fingers was tight. Had she realized that it could have been her up for auction?


	17. The slave auction

The Red Sands Tavern was a ramshackle timber building nestled between a shipyard and a derelict warehouse, facing the river. Crowded along the quay were groups of men, waiting, presumably for the slave auction, for they were all foreigners. To one side a group of Galibas, traders from the delta raft villages, sat on the tavern benches. They were dressed in turbans and full length tunics of gray and off-white, some stained with food and drink, their double chins quivering as they gesticulated and chattered like magpies. Near them were a band of big, blond, bearded men in the leather jerkins and thonged leggings of the seafaring Northmen. They sat sprawled at their tables, jugs of ale and clay beakers before them. Here and there a double headed axe lay on a table.

Beyond them were a group of Kelb tribesmen. Redraic frowned. The earl was at peace with the Kelb, but it was a wary and uneasy peace. They were a loose confederation of nomads who moved around in family groups of fifty or more. They were cousins but enemies of the Baian, though the earl believed the two groups sometimes raided together. They seldom entered Findias itself. Each subclan was fiercely independent, acknowledging no leader except a clan elder they called the Trade Master. They were tall, hawknosed men, standing silent and expressionless, observing the other men. The ivory hilts of daggers jutted from their robes.

Both Galibas and Kelb kept away from the Northmen, scowling, but not too openly, at them. The former was because they had a reputation for piracy, the latter for short tempers and quick violence. The axes were on the tables to send a message.

A few heads turned as Redraic and Anne came into view. Eyes swept over the maiden next to him, lingered a moment, hooded and caped though she was, then were transferred to himself. He frowned and the gazes were withdrawn. He looked towards the tavern. To one side of a doorway was a low platform. At the table next to it he recognized the burly figure of Ortiagon. Two jugs of ale and a beaker were on the table before him. Even as Redraic watched him, he emptied a beaker and turned to refill it from a jug. Even at this time of day he was far from sober. But if he was here, it was likely that Turig would be nearby, with the boy.

Anne started to speak, but Redraic raised his hand and she fell silent. They must stay unnoticed until there was some sign of the boy.

They had not been there long when the door opened and a short, fat man stepped onto the platform, followed by two men pushing two smaller hooded figures before them.

Next to him Redraic heard a sharp intake of breath. He held up his hand again. The man behind the smaller figure was Turig. One would be the boy, but which? Best to wait and see what happened before acting.

“Just two lots today, friends,” said the fat man. “The first, a fine young maiden, from beyond the Algonim, she would be a perfect handmaiden, young enough to train, old enough to know what’s good for her. She-”

“Lift the hood, man, and cut the gab,” bellowed a voice. “Do y’think we’d buy a pig in a poke? Let’s have a look at her. She may have a face like the prow of the _Long Serpent_!” A burst of laughter came from the Northmen.

“Right you are, friend. She’s a right beauty, but a little fierce like. But a lad like you’d tame her, no trouble.” He turned and pulled the hood off the taller of the two figures.

Anne drew her breath in and whispered, “Poor girl.”

A movement among the Kelb drew Redraic’s attention. They were talking and gesticulating, then one of them strode onto the platform. He waved away the auctioneer’s protest and peered at the maiden. Then he stepped away backwards.

“What fool took her?” he said in a piercing, accented voice. Even the Galibas fell silent to listen. “She is a diobarach beinn Baian bandraoi – do you not see the initiation marks on her brow? Any man who touches her, she will curse, him and his clan, root and branch.”

Ortiagon crashed his fist down on the table. “Pigswill, man,” he bellowed, “she is just a wench we found in the mountains, she is not dangerous …”

“Fool! You hold a sabre-tooth by the tail. She will damn you to the nethermost regions of Hubur. If any man violates her, she will suicide, and the wrath of the beinn Baian and the curses of their draoi will descend on his clan.” He backed off the platform, making a warding sign as he did so.

“Nay, hogwash, man,” began Turig, but the auctioneer whispered to him and he fell silent, scowling.

“Well,” said the auctioneer, “let us put this matter to one side for the moment.” He gestured to another man who came up behind the woman, pulled the hood over her head and dragged her off the platform.

“Here we have the other lot for today’s sale, no mountain Baian this one, no doubt about that, but a shepherd boy from beyond the Algonim, young and trainable.” He gestured to Turig and he removed the hood. A white face with two livid lines across it was revealed. The boy stared wildly about, but a gag prevented any speech.

Immediately a call came from the crowd of Fianns. “That is Laeg mac Rochan, my grandson from the tanners’ quarter.”

“You lie, old man, I caught him beyond the mountains,” shouted Turig.

“He is my cousin Laeg, you stole him, you stole him,” screamed a boy’s voice.

Redraic started as Anne called out, “You kidnapped him from the Terran hospital in Findias. He is a Findian boy. The earl forbids trade in his subjects.”

Already the Kelb were shaking their heads and the chattering among the Galibas grew louder. The Northmen, though, were looking at the Terran maiden. No wonder, for, her hood thrown back, she looked like a Norse princess.

“By the gods, you Terran bitch,” shouted Turig, “you are no subject of the earl’s, I’ll sell you instead.”

He thrust the boy into the auctioneer’s arms and started towards the Terran. She moved closer to Redraic, tightening her grip on his arm. Redraic folded his arms and stood tall, glaring at Turig.

The man stopped and said, “So, the gutless Terrans send their women out to do battle for them. With their Fiann lovers for protection. Why do the men not come themselves?”

“They have come,” said a voice behind him. A man had come out from the alley between the inn and a warehouse. He stepped onto the platform, a staff shod in iron in his hands. Redraic recognized him immediately as the Terran who had rescued the boy from Turig the day before.

“Angus!” whispered Anne. At the same time Redraic was aware of a movement beside him and glanced across to see the lady Chiomara standing there between two Aedua men-at-arms, breathing heavily.

“You,” shouted Ortiagon. He made to rise, but the Terran whirled the staff around his head and slammed it down onto the table, shattering the mug of ale. Redraic stared. A Terran, acting so? Ortiagon fell back, raising his hands in defence.

The Terran thumped his staff twice on the boards and shouted out, “This boy is Findian born and bred. Any man who attempts to sell him is breaking the earl’s law.” He took a step towards the auctioneer and the man released him and stepped back. Immediately the boy ran across to the Terran and stood next to him.

“You’re lying, you Terran scum,” yelled Turig, but the Terran had already turned away, to a woman’s cry.

The Baian maiden, hooded and in the hands of the guard, was calling, holding out her bound hands to the Terran. He sprang forward, lifting his staff, and the guard leapt back, letting the girl go. She staggered forward and the Terran reached down and lifted her onto the platform. Then he ripped off her hood, drew a dagger and cut her hands free.

She pulled the gag down and looked about her. Then, as quick as a viper, she snatched the dagger from the Terran. He reached out to take it back and she immediately reversed it and held the point to her breast. The Terran stopped and raised his hands.

The maiden flung back her hair, stepped back, then bowed to the Terran and spoke in a piercing voice. “I came, man of another world, hearing your voice. I was to execute the doom you escaped at the Rock of Fuill. I was to lay the shroud over your face, to pronounce the curses and place the iron spikes to seal your tongue, your eyes, your ears. And you know this, I see it in your eyes. But still you cut my bonds. Geilt you are, Ironrod. You have freed me that I may cleanse my spirit before I walk into the Dark Hills. Let all men hear that this bandraoi declares you her anumcara.”

Ah, this was Ironrod, the Terran who had fought beside his cousin at Fuill Rock? And the bandraoi said he’d escaped the Baian? So were all those tall tales about him true? Not possible, surely. But ... a bandraoi would not lie, and the way the man had acted here ...

The bandraoi turned slowly to look at Turig. He had not moved a step nearer since the Terran had freed her, and now began to back away. “You viper,” she shrieked, pointing at him, “you have laid your foul hands on a bandraoi. As your nature is that of the scavenger, so will your slinking cousins tear your life from you. Within a half year you will seek them.”

Then she turned to Ortiagon, “You.” She walked slowly towards him. He shrank back. Everyone watched her, but no one moved. “You are the bestial violator. For that there is a reckoning. Your family I spare, for she who you took to wife succoured me and has yet another to succour. But for you, death is not enough. For your deeds, oblivion is your fate,” and she raised both arms, hands outstretched hands and spoke words Redraic had never heard before. She must be calling down a curse to the secret language of the druids, damning his soul to never be reborn. She might just be a maiden but he could feel the aura of power around her. Ortiagon sat there as if frozen, his mouth slightly open, his eyes wide and staring. Redraic shivered. Findian nobility were sceptical about curses, but he’d not like to be the one to find out if they worked or not.

She lowered her arms. “Your soul is dead, let your body follow.” She reached into her robes, took out a bark phial and bit into it. Then she sprang forward, spat into the man’s face, sprang back again and drove the dagger upwards into her body, just below the breastbone. She turned to face the mountains as she collapsed to her knees, then fell onto her side.

Next to Redraic, Chiomara screamed and ran forward, Anne after her. On the platform the Terran man leapt past the dying bandraoi and, seizing the pitcher of ale on the table, flung the contents in Ortiagon’s face. Chiomara screamed again and, reaching Ortiagon, thrust the Terran away.

“No, no,” cried Anne, running forward, “he’s trying to help.”

But already Ortiagon was clawing at his eyes.

The Terran looked around, calling out. “A horse, a horse, who has a horse? We must get him to hospital.”

But the Galibas were backing away and even the northmen were shaking their heads. One of the Kelb called, “He is damned, Geilt Ironrod. No man should touch him.”

The Terran caught sight of Redraic and called, “You, big man, come, help me. We’ll carry him to the Quay Gate and get a horse there.”

“No!” cried Chiomara. “You have caused all this, Terran. Stand away! I will take him to the Fiann hospice.”

The Terran stepped back. “They have no antidotes, madam. They will be able to do nothing. Nothing!”

She ignored him, turned and called, “Ruadan, bring my litter for lord Ortiagon.”

“Aye, my lady,” replied a male voice and a few moments later a four bearer litter was carried onto the platform.

“Take him, gently now,” said Chiomara to the litterbearers, as they lifted the gasping man into the litter. One hand was clasped over his eyes, the other clutching his heaving chest. “Go to Goldsetters’ Infirmary with all speed. I will follow.”

The Terran stood back and said softly, “I am very sorry.”

Chiomara turned to him and said, “If any harm comes to my husband, Terran, you will indeed be sorry.”

“No, lady!” said Anne. “You cannot blame him. It was your husband and that man Turig who were trying to sell this poor girl into slavery. Goba Oenghus was acting as any decent man would.”

Chiomara looked at her, then down at the sprawled bandraoi at her feet. Then she looked up and said, “Where is he, where is lord Turig?”

“Lord Turig ran away, madam,” said the Terran. “He fled the wrath of this young woman once he saw she was free.”

Chiomara looked around, scorn in her eyes, her nostrils flared.

“He also abducted this boy,” said Anne. The lad, during all of this, had stayed to one side, and Anne’s first act was to go to him, cut him free and take his hand, extending her protection over him. “The boy he struck. And then tried to sell him.”

“Is he all right?” Chiomara said.

“I think so,” said Anne, looking at him. “But we will take him back to the hospital and examine him.”

Chiomara frowned, and was about to speak when a man called, “Baintighearna, we have a litter.” She swept an intense look around at them all, then hurried away.

“Baintighearna.” It was the old man who had challenged Turig. “My grandson, baintighearna.”

Anne released the boy’s hand and the old man clasped his shoulders. “He should come back to the hospital, goodman,” she said.

The old man nodded, but drew the boy away from her, and started to speak to him in patois.

“He will let the boy come back,” said the Terran. “We met yesterday, and he trusts us.”

He looked in the direction of the departing litter, and shook his head. “They will be able to do nothing. Utter some prayers and shrug their shoulders when he dies.”

“You think he will die?” said Redraic.

“Almost certainly. She was a bandraoi of a fanatical sect. They would use a strong poison in a suicide capsule. She’s already dead. Whether I was able to dilute it or wash enough away – who knows. His chances are small anyway, but they would have been better with us.” He looked at the maiden lying on the platform. “What a futile business. One dead, one dying. I should have left the whole business alone.”

“Oh, Angus, you can’t blame yourself” said Anne. “You couldn’t have known this would happen. You didn’t know what he’d done to her.”

“I didn’t even think about it when I cut her free.”

“You knew she was a bandraoi?” asked Redraic.

“Yes, I saw her face yesterday, at Treveri. She was one of the druids at Fuill Rock.”

“She was sent to kill you, yet you freed her?”

“I didn’t think. I just saw a girl being sold into slavery.”

“You did not hear what the Kelb said?”

“No, what did they say? When I arrived, that man Turig was threatening Anne.”

“A Kelb tribesman went up and examined her,” said Anne. “He said she was a diobarach beinn Baian bandraoi - that means an outcast mountain Baian druidess, does it not?” she asked Redraic.

He raised his eyebrows. “You understand our language well.”

She reddened a little, and said to the Terran, “He said if anyone bought her and ... violated her, she’d curse him and his family, then kill herself”.

Angus groaned. “I knew that anyway. I should have realized a slug like Ortiagon would have raped her. No, I just blundered in.”

“Oh, Angus, how could you have realised that a Fiann nobleman would do a thing like that? And you didn’t just blunder in, you acted bravely to free her from slavery. You couldn’t have anticipated what followed. Any man might have done the same.” She glanced at Redraic and added, “Any man who felt an obligation to her and the boy.”

She does not wish to make me feel unmanly, thought Redraic. She is thoughtful, this maiden. “I would have stopped the selling of the boy,” he said, “But the maiden was not of Findias, and an enemy.”

“Oh, but she was-“ began Anne, but just then the old man said, “Lord,” and gently pushed Laeg forward. The boy went up to the Terran, knelt before him, took his hand and placed it in his own head.

The Terran’s eyes widened, and he tried to pull his hand away, but the boy clung to it.

“I cannot take a bondsman, goodman Becaltain. It is against Terran rules and the earl’s commands.”

The man lowered his head. “The lord Turig may hunt him again. I cannot protect him, lord. What can I do?”

The Terran looked at him then back at the boy who knelt before him. “The earl-”

“The earl would not object,” said Redraic. “This is Fiann custom. If you live on Fianna, you must abide by Fiann custom. You cannot refuse his fealty.”

The Terran looked at him then at the old man. “You are sure of this, goodman Becaltain?”

“Aye, lord. Twice now you have saved him. This is written in the Book of Fate.”

“And you, Laeg? Is this of your own free will?”

Laeg looked at his grandfather, then looked at the ground.

“He does not wish it, goodman Becaltain.”

There was a burst of patois from the grandfather to the boy, then the boy said, “I wish it, tighearna. I wish to be your bondsman.”

“How about if your grandfather came too, Laeg?”

The boy’s face brightened.

“Goodman Becaltain, I have need of a leather worker for saddle repairs. Would you come and stay with Laeg in Treveri for a while? If so, I shall take Laeg not as bondsman but as apprentice ironsmith.”

The old man’s eyes widened. “Lord, that would be a blessing unlooked for on my family. I shall come to Treveri whenever you say, with leather and tools.”

The Terran looked at Laeg and said, “We’ll soon put some muscle on those shoulders and arms, lad. But first, back to the hospital.”


	18. Angus on trial

Angus had been back at the hospital for barely half an hour before Charles called him upstairs again.

This time he led the way past his office to the conference room. He thrust open the door and gestured Angus to enter. The conference table had been placed in front of the windows. Behind it, their backs to the light, sat four of the eight council members. To one side at a small table sat two clerks to record the meeting. A chair had been placed squarely in the middle of the room, set back from the table.

As Charles strode to the centre chair on the other side of the table, Angus frowned and said, “What’s this, an inquisition?”

Charles sat down and said, “It is a council meeting to discuss your behaviour and decide on the appropriate action. Please take your seat.”

Angus sat down, leant back and folded his arms. “So this is a formal trial?”

“You could call it that. I have been compelled to call this meeting because of your actions. They make your position on Fianna untenable.”

“What! You want to repatriate me?”

“That is for the council to decide.”

Angus scanned across the faces. They all returned stony glares. “You need a quorum to impeach a council member.”

“You are no longer a council member, Angus. You lost that position.”

“Did I? I lose track of your petty acts of vindictiveness. But you still need a quorum. Elizabeth and Mary are here, why not call them?”

“Elizabeth and Mary have been called away.”

“How convenient for you.”

“What are you implying, Angus?”

“That this is rigged, Charles. These are all your appointees. Strange that they are the only council members available for something as serious as a repatriation. But you still need a quorum.”

Charles leaned forward. “As we now have a smaller council since you were demoted, five members, including the chair, constitute a quorum.”

“How can five be a quorum? Ah, the others you appointed have all resigned, haven’t they. So you have only four left to prop you up, Charles? Four who still cling to the sinking ship?”

“If it’s sinking, it’s because of you and your violent actions. Let us proceed. For the records, I will state the case for the Project council, after which you may provide a defence.

“Angus was appointed head of engineering services for the Fianna Project by the Colonial Service. Although on paper his qualifications are adequate, even while on Earth I questioned whether his temperament, as shown by his conduct on Toba, was suitable. I felt he was unlikely to be able to maintain a professional detachment, and too likely to contravene Colonial Service rules by involving himself with the natives.”

“You what? While I was trying to get you appointed to Fianna, you were busy trying to stab me in back, even then?”

“You will have an opportunity to put your case shortly, Angus. Please refrain from interrupting and also from using emotive language. Unfortunately, events have proved me correct. His tale of his escape from the massacre at Fuill Rock was so improbable and met with such scepticism by the Fiann, and his actions there so suspect that I had no choice but suspend him from his position, hoping thereby to limit the damage he was causing to the Project.

“Unfortunately this did not have the desired result. He has been a loose cannon in all senses of the phrase. Yesterday morning he fired an arrow at a Fiann noble family, women and children, who had come to him for help with a lame horse. Yesterday afternoon he marched into the earl’s procession, disrupting it. I called him in and spoke to him about it, but he walked out of the meeting. Today, he again walked out of a meeting to interfere in Findian business, but with even more serious consequences. He went to Telemon Quay to poke his nose into a matter sanctioned by Fiann culture and custom, and permitted by the earl. This time, however, his meddling resulted in the death of a Fiann nobleman. We have here a rapid escalation of interference, aggression and violence. Previous sanctions to restrain him have had no effect. I submit that the only solution is to repatriate him, before he damages the Project beyond repair. As set out in our constitution, I will allow him to speak in his defence, then throw the floor open to other speakers.”

“I don’t know that it is worth trying to persuade your appointees, Charles. If they’re still your lot after all that’s happened, logic, not to speak of right and wrong, is beyond them. Still for the record, I’ll have a try. Charles’s accusations are based on half-truths or misrepresentation of the facts. On Earth, his attempt at backstabbing was ignored, for I was appointed deputy leader on Findias. On Fuill Rock, my story was checked and verified by the earl. Charles based my suspension from duty on ‘unanswered questions’, but those questions have never been defined, let alone asked. The suspension was supposed to have been followed by a written report setting out the reasons and justifying the suspension, within four weeks. This has never appeared, suggesting that my suspension cannot be justified.

“My actions today were to stop the selling into slavery of a Findian boy and a Baian druidess. Selling of Findians is against the earl’s law, and the woman was present at Fuill Rock and was wanted by the earl for questioning. The man selling her had raped her, which I discovered only later. I freed her and she cursed her rapist, spat poison at him, then committed suicide. The man was taken to the Findian healing centre, but died. Freeing her was a mistake, but as this was a matter of Findian culture, it is for the earl to assess culpability.”

“A mistake? A man died because of your mistake!”

“A man died because he raped a druidess, Charles. As a Findian, he would have known how she would react if she had the opportunity.”

“Which you gave her.”

“Which I gave her and for which I’m happy to accept the earl’s judgement.”

“No, that would breach diplomatic immunity. The point is that your actions are, again, showing us as meddling brawlers, interfering again and again in Findian affairs. Your actions, increasingly, damage our relationship with the Findians.”

“Has the earl said so?”

“I hardly think we need ask, when your actions have just caused the death of a Fiann nobleman.”

“Oh, I think you do, Charles. The earl might think it was the nobleman’s action in raping the Baian woman that made her kill him, not my freeing her. And he might not agree that my other actions yesterday were unjustified.

“We can judge disruptive behaviour without getting the earl’s opinion.”

“You can’t. Definitely not. According to your accusation, all you are concerned about is making a bad impression on the Fiann. So the Fiann reaction to any Terran action is all that matters. It doesn’t matter if you think it’s bad or Brian there thinks it’s bad, it only matters if the Fiann, in the person of the earl, thinks it’s bad.”

“Spare me your logic, Angus. The point is that you brought us to the attention of the earl negatively three times in two days. I-”

“Charles, you keep using bureaucrat-speak. Am I actually charged with anything? Has the earl actually charged me with anything? Have you actually even spoken to the earl?”

“Of course I have. As soon as I heard of the first disgraceful incident I went to the earl to try to limit the fallout.”

“Ah, yes, that’s the point we reached yesterday. You went of your own accord, to see if you could stir up trouble for me. How did you get to hear of it?”

“I have ways and means, Angus. It is my business to keep on top of things.”

“You don’t have a spy in the earl’s court, do you? Hell, not even you would do that.”

Charles glared at him. “I told you I have ways and means. That is all you need to know.”

Angus hit his head with the heel of his hand. “This beggars belief. Charles, how could you be so foolish? A spy in the earl’s court? No wonder he doesn’t trust us. You think he doesn’t know?”

Charles smiled. “Your naïvity is touching, Angus. Of course the earl knows. He has spies here in my staff, I have spies in his. He expects it.”

Angus shook his head. “Oh, no! Charles, that is a fundamental mistake. The earl has the right to put spies here with us. It’s his planet, his city, his people. We are an unknown factor. Simply by the fact that we travelled here through space tells him we have technical abilities far greater than his. He knows we could wipe out his city in the blink of an eye. So we have to prove our credentials; that we are here for what we say we are, and absolutely nothing more. We are supposed to have one purpose and one purpose only, to help the Fiann. And then we go and put a spy in his court? No wonder he suspects us of having a hidden agenda. By that one act, Charles, you destroyed our credibility. I knew you were a novice, but, hell, I would never have believed even you could be capable of such naïvity. Not even the juniors would have done something so foolish.”

Charles stood up, leaning forward, his hands on the desk, his face red. “For your information, Angus, a spy in the court of the local ruler on every Project would have saved Terran lives many times.”

“Oh, absolutely. By destroying trust, hence bringing each Terran Project to an abrupt halt and everyone being sent home. On planets like this, anyway. On others the ruler would simply have hung the lot of us.”

There was a rap on the door, it opened and Elizabeth came in, followed by Mary. Anne stood in the doorway behind them, hesitating.

Charles frowned. “We are halfway through a council meeting, Elizabeth.”

“So I see. We don’t have a full council meeting for two months, in spite of requests, then suddenly we have one at such short notice that half the council members cannot attend. And so urgent a meeting it could not wait an hour until Mary and I were free. Fortunately someone realized the call-out was false and sent a runner after us. And here, by the number of chairs, it seems you were not expecting us to attend anyway.” She went back to the door and spoke to the Fiann doorman. A few moments later three more chairs were passed in. “What is the purpose of the meeting, Charles? Your notice didn’t specify.”

“To discuss Angus’s disruptive behaviour yesterday and today.”

“No, it’s not,” said Angus. “The purpose of the meeting is to justify my repatriation, Elizabeth. But as Charles has just told us he’s put a spy in the earl’s court, we might as well all go home anyway.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “That would go a long way to explain the earl’s attitude towards us.”

“With respect, Elizabeth, how I run the Project has nothing to do with field leaders,” said Charles. “Angus is trying to sidetrack the meeting. So far he has said nothing to justify his aggressive and violent actions, yesterday and today. Do you have anything at all relevant to say, Angus?”

“On my molehill compared to your mountain?” Charles glared at him, and Angus said, “I repeat that unless the earl has complained to you, you have no case. Your opinion, Brian’s opinion, the doorman’s opinion on my behaviour is not relevant.”

“And that is all you can say to justify your actions. You can do what you like, up to and including causing the death of one of the earl’s nobles by your brawling and interference, provided the earl does not object. Well, I hardly think we can accept that. Do you have anything further to say before I call for a vote?”

“Not so fast, Charles,” said Elizabeth. “Angus is right. The only opinion that matters is the earl’s. Given the antipathy of the earl towards violence against women, I think it quite probable he would not censure Angus for his actions. Also I think that the malaise affecting our Project has far deeper reasons than Angus’s behaviour, and that repatriating Angus, far from satisfying the earl, would only serve to convince him of our incompetence.”

“You are entitled to your opinion, Elizabeth,” said Charles stiffly. “But I think I have a better idea of the current state of affairs than you do.”

“Oh, do you indeed,” said Mary. “You’d know, then, that we lost a two year old yesterday. Meningitis. If her mother had brought her twenty-four hours earlier, we could have saved her. But she was scared of what her neighbours’ would say. It was heart breaking.” Anne nodded earnestly.

“I sympathize, Mary,” said Charles, “but I fail to see what that has to do with Angus’s behaviour.”

“Nothing, Charles, which is the point,” said Elizabeth “The distrust and dislike with which most Fiann regard us has grown over the past two months. It has nothing to do with Angus’s behaviour.”

“I am not going to go into the scepticism with which the Fiann regard the story of Angus’s escape from the Baian, again. As far as I’m concerned, he is a liability to the Project and should be repatriated. I see no point in further discussion. All those in favour of Angus’s repatriation, raise their hands.”

The four young men next to him raised their hands. “That makes five in favour. Elizabeth, presumably you and Mary oppose the motion?”

“We certainly do.”

“It makes little difference. We have a majority-”

“It makes all the difference in the world, Charles,” said Elizabeth. “I have checked the constitution recently. On a matter of serious as repatriation, you need a unanimous vote. You do not have one, so your motion is defeated.”

Charles glared at her. “That rule only applies to a council member. It does not apply to a rank and file member of the Project. Angus is no longer a member of the council. I demoted him.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “I checked that also. You do not have the power to demote him. Only the Colonial Service can do that. All you can do is suspend him. So he is still a council member, though suspended from duty. Thus you do not have the power to order his repatriation unless you have a unanimous vote from the council.”

“So you oppose me on this, Elizabeth,” Charles said, staring at her.

“I most certainly do, and so does Mary.”

“That could have consequences.”

Elizabeth just looked at him, and Angus said, “Don’t be a fool, Charles. Haven’t you learnt already that you can’t push Elizabeth around? Touch Medicine and the earl would kick us out within the week.”

“When I need your advice, Angus, I’ll resign. Very well. We’ll give him yet another chance. But from now on, Angus, you are forbidden any contact with the Fiann as well as banned from Findias. You may have contact only when it is initiated by them, and in such cases, the contact must be kept in short as possible, and reported to me in writing afterwards. Do you understand, Angus?”

Angus stood up. “What a petty little bureaucrat you turned out to be, Charles. On Earth, among the paper shufflers, you were fine. Here, where there are real challenges, you are useless. You are the one who should be repatriated.” He walked out, leaving the door open for Elizabeth and Mary.

As he went down the stairs, he heard Elizabeth say, “How much longer do you think you can go on like this, Charles? I don’t know what you’re telling Earth, but even your patron must be asking what’s happening by this time.”


	19. Redraic on trial

“I have read your report on events at Red Sands Tavern, nephew,” said the earl. “It was rather brief, but we will come to that. So you have finally met some Terrans. What you think of them? Your impressions were not included.”

Redraic’s first report, and here his uncle was criticising it? He’d put a lot of effort into that. “Not much, uncle.”

“Oh? Why?”

“This man Angus Ironmaster. I found him arrogant.” His uncle’s demeanour changed and he stared at Redraic. Later, thinking about it, Redraic realised he should have seen the lie of the land, and reversed his line of march there and then. But, a little annoyed, he didn’t, and plodded on. “He ordered me to help him carry the man Ortiagon, calling me ‘big man.’”

“And you dislike him for that?”

“Not just that, uncle. His action at Red Sands was wild and foolish.”

Hie uncle’s expression became even bleaker. “Wild and foolish. I see. Anything else?”

This was not going well. Why? Surely his uncle had no reason to like these people? Still, he’d better find some stronger justification for his comments. “It was for him that my cousin died, for other Terrans that my brother died. I have every reason to hate them.”

His uncle sat back, steepled his fingers and looked at him. “Any other thoughts?”

“That far-fetched story of his escape over the mountains, uncle. How likely is that?”

“Not very. Anything else?”

“No, uncle. Is that not enough?”

“More than enough, nephew.” His uncle bit the words out. Then he looked across at the wall. Redraic looked too, and his eyes widened. Where a tapestry had hung was now a painting, clearly another work by lady Elizabeth. It showed the citadel at dawn as an eagle might see it. It was skilled work, as beautiful as the others in the hospital, yes, but to have it here, in one of his uncle’s receiving rooms? Its presence sent a message, but what? Was his uncle showing a regard for the skill or the person? Or an acknowledgment of the abilities of the Terrans in general? Surely not; he must hate them for the trouble they’d caused him. And certainly despise them, as Redraic did, for the feeble creatures they were.

“I must remember, nephew, that you are yet young and inexperienced in these matters. That you have had little reason in your life so far to consider matters deeply. That you have shown willingness to change your views, and to learn, and are doing so.”

He had blundered, seriously so, that was clear. But how? Others thought as he did, he knew that. But, apparently, not his uncle, and he was the one that mattered.

“Let us take your complaints one by one, nephew.”

“Complaints, uncle?” This made him sound like a petulant child.

"Complaints, nephew. First, Red Sands. A young woman is raped in Findias and is about to be sold into slavery. She is a Baian bandraoi, sent to assassinate a certain man. That man recognises her, realizes her purpose, but such is his compassion, frees her. She, showing more awareness of courage and honour than my nephew, honours him in return. She then extinguishes the soul of the man who raped her, kills him then herself. Where, tell me, is the wildness and foolishness?”

Reraic spread his hands. “Uncle, she was an enemy and she killed a Findian nobleman.”

“And that counts for more than that she was a maiden who was raped, and in our city? You are aware about how our society feels about violence towards women, nephew? You are aware that rape is a capital offense in Findias? You think that because he was a Findian nobleman and she a Baian, that the rape becomes acceptable?”

Sarcasm. Ouch. “No, uncle. I do know how we feel about violence towards women and that rape is a capital crime.”

“I’m glad to hear it. And ‘wild and foolish’?”

This was more than disapproval: he’d roused his uncle’s anger. Why? Had this Terran somehow gained his respect? He, Redraic, had planned to look into what had at Fuill Rock, but had not got around to it. Maybe he should have. Conciliation seemed wise.

“As you see it, uncle, it was not.”

“How do you see it?”

“It was ... courage and honour, uncle.”

“I see your reluctance, nephew. Give me your true opinion.”

“It was courage and honour, uncle. I did not look deeply enough. He knew she might kill him, but he also saw that no one else would free her. He believed strongly that she did not deserve slavery. So he freed her, risking the consequences. He did not know, uncle, that she had been raped until afterwards, so while his action was impetuous, it was not foolish.”

“Good. You do not like the man, but you are just. Awareness of what is just is essential to any leader who aspires to lead his country well. As is awareness of noble principles, even if these are seen through the curtain of prejudice, nephew.”

Ouch again.

“Let us move on to your next complaint. A man is in a desperate situation, and calls for help on another he believes strong enough to give it. Does he consider propriety, diction, hurt feelings? Or does he consider that the urgency of the situation makes his need as plain as the noonday sun to any man with a horn thimble of sense?”

“His need was plain, uncle.”

“Yes. Next, the Rock of Fuill. My son, your brother and the Findian guard were instructed to escort the Terrans to the court of the count of Gorias. The concept of being an escort is clear to you, nephew?”

His uncle was not sparing the lash. “It means to ensure the safety of the persons escorted, uncle.”

“Yes. They were attacked, and by the code of Findian honour as well as my orders, my captains and their men died defending those they had undertaken to protect. They died doing their duty, bravely and with honour. The Terrans died also. Except one, who the Baian purposely did not kill so they could sacrifice him the following morning. He escaped and fled over the mountains.”

“But did he, uncle? A mere Terran could not have done that. They are too weak, both in mind and body.”

“You know that I have checked his story, nephew? You know that I sent trackers to follow his route? You know that I interrogated captured Baian?”

“I heard that, uncle.”

“You heard, but continued to disbelieve?”

“I did not know how thorough the investigation had been.”

The earl looked at him in silence, long enough to make him squirm inwardly. This meeting was not going well. “My son, my nephew and my troops were slaughtered by the Baian. Do you think I do not bleed for that? Do you think I would not sieve every last grain of sand to find the truth of what happened?”

“No, uncle.”

“You worry me, nephew. Your body is sound and strong, but your mind? A man who prefers prejudice to truth so that he can nurture hatred in his heart can be no fit leader. You are learning how our state functions; law, history, economics. That is knowledge, a necessary acquisition for a good ruler. But what is vital is character. Integrity: to seek truth. Open-mindedness: to evaluate it without prejudice. Courage: to act on it.”

“But uncle, I have sought truth. Men have told me, uncle, that there are questions to be answered on what the Terran claimed to have done.”

“I trust my kinsfolk can distinguish between listening to gossip and seeking truth. And do not use the expression ‘there are questions to be answered’, nephew. It is the last refuge of scoundrels who have no interest in the truth, only in how they may besmirch the name of a man unjustly. Their purpose is manipulate those gullible enough to believe their lies. Am I to rate you as gullible as well as irrationally prejudiced?”

He was making a poor impression here, but he must fight his corner. “Uncle, I am not. It is the Terrans themselves who use that expression about this man.”

“And Terrans soiling one of their own makes it true beyond doubt in your eyes?”

“Why else would they do it, uncle?”

“Why indeed. That is exactly what you should find out before you give it any credence whatever. Who among the Terrans says this?”

“I don’t know, uncle.”

“Then find out nephew.” His uncle bit the words out. “Always find out whether a man expressing an opinion has a vested interest in that opinion. You will find that this lie is put about by director Charles and his pack of bootlicking puppies. I think you have no high opinion of director Charles?”

“I don’t, uncle.”

“Ironrod was to have become leader on the death of the lady Agnes. Instead, director Charles usurped that position. Discrediting Ironrod has been his purpose since that day. Does that sound sufficient motive for you, nephew?”

“Yes, uncle, it does.” He spread his hands. “Uncle, I did not want to distress you by asking about Fuill Rock.”

“Much as I appreciate that sentiment, nephew, I would far rather be distressed for a quarter turn of the clock than for a much longer period because the last scion of the House of Lugh finds ignorance and prejudice an adequate foundation for his beliefs. Besides, you did not have to ask me. The record of my investigation is in the archives. It relates what the interrogated Baian said, and what my trackers found on the Uabhal Mor and in the Bidean nam Biann. All you have to do is ask a scribe for it.”

“I’m sorry, uncle.”

“You should be, nephew, for the character you have shown today reflects badly on you. As a potential candidate for leader, as a man, but most of all as a man of the House of Lugh. In disparaging this Terran, you insult your own family.”

“Uncle!” He’d been a fool, yes, but this was too much.

“Had you enquired you would have learnt that your cousin called the Terran ‘sword-brother’ as they stood together facing death. It was Keldric who gave him the praise-name ‘Ironrod.’ It was Keldric and Ironrod who is stood alone at the last, and leapt forward together to sell their lives as dearly as they could. You would have learnt that though the Terran fought with little skill, his ferocity was like that of a Norse beserker. That before the battle he wished to sacrifice his life to save his Fiann escort. You would have learnt that we were told all of this by a senior Baian druid, a man of the status and integrity of your great-uncle who, though he wished to kill Ironrod as a Terran witch, yet regarded him highly as a man. So not only does your prejudice dishonour you yourself, it dishonours your family. You would have learnt that the trackers who followed Ironrod across the mountains were astonished at his feat, but that his trail showed beyond any doubt that he had done exactly what he claimed. You would have learnt, from his own words to me and your great uncle, that he is as modest a man as any, and far more eager to praise others than accept praise himself. The Findian guard received full honour from him.

“What you will not find, but will become obvious when you think about it, is that the House of Lugh owes a debt of honour to Ironrod. Because he escaped and reached Findias, I had notice of the raid many days earlier than otherwise would have been the case. We were thus able to ride out, find and kill those that had killed our kinsfolk. So, far from disparaging Angus Ironmaster, we should be honouring him.”

The earl leant forward, his gaze intent, his eyes on Redraic’s face. “The Baian attack at Fuill Rock, nephew, was intended to emasculate the Terran project by removing the chief and second-in-command. It was intended to wound Findias, grievously, by removing the House of the Lugh from the future leadership of Findias. In this strike, the Baian have succeeded with the Terrans beyond their hopes - Earth appointed a fool as leader and Project has all but stopped, with little hope of restarting. I trust they have not achieved the same with the House of Lugh.”

Mess this up and he’d find himself relegated to Tolosa. “Uncle, I am sorry. I accept that I started with prejudice against all Terrans and believed innuendo and rumour. I should have considered that you would have checked this Terran’s story thoroughly. In something so important, I should have gone to the archives and read the reports myself. I should have seen his actions at Red Sands for what they were, and not have been blinded by my feelings. It will not happen again, uncle.”

"It must not, nephew. I have enough on my mind without worrying about your adequacy. Which brings me to another point about your report.”

“Yes, uncle?”

“You missed out on some vital details, nephew, quite probably because of your prejudice against the Terran. You did not mention that the Baian bandraoi declared him her anumcara. Why was that?”

Redraic shifted uneasily. “I didn’t think it was important. She called him geilt too. But she was just a Baian witch, and he’s a Terran.”

“Nephew, you were born with a good mind: you must develop it if our family is to prosper or even survive. I might live another twenty years or I might be assassinated tomorrow. As you are, I could not support you as a candidate for leadership, and even if I did, the council would not elect you. Learn to guard your tongue, and leave prejudice to those whose minds are too dull to know any better. Your great-uncle would not be pleased to hear you call a bandraoi a witch, even if she was a Baian. The druids select their novices for their potential, so she’d have been a clever child. After ten years of training, she’d have been an even more mentally adroit woman. So she was probably cleverer than you or I, and beyond any doubt knew far more about many subjects, like plants and the night sky. So disrespect her at your peril. Of those who did, the barons of Aedua and Rutena; one is dead with soul extinguished, and one has his doom pronounced. The man who respected her, on the other hand, won more than her respect. She, who was appointed to kill the Terran, body and spirit, not only spares him but elevates him, calling him geilt and anumcara. What do you think are the implications of that?”

“Uncle, I don’t know, but the Kelb were astonished, so her words did have implications. Are the Baian superstitious?”

“Avoid the term superstition, nephew, as it implies ignorance and simplemindedness, so is insulting. One man’s superstition is another’s fervent belief. Where might you find out?”

“My great-uncle Corvi?”

“Yes. How will you ask?”

“Uncle?”

“Considering what you know about the druids, how would you phrase your question, nephew?”

Ah. “The druids are dead against the Terrans, and that might … taint their answer. So perhaps I would ask the question in a more general way, without mentioning the Terrans.”

“Good. I’m glad to see the potential for considering implications. Bear in mind that your great-uncle is a very clever man and will guess why you asking.”

“Perhaps I will ask his scribe.”

“Why? He is also clever.”

“Yes, but whereas my great-uncle can probe and question me, and I must answer, his clerk cannot.”

“Good. You’re now considering and planning, and that is what a leader has to do all the time. But consider further: the scribe will certainly report to your great-uncle. He may see your action as underhand, timid and unfitting to a future leader. His good opinion of you is important for three reasons; that he is family; that he is the chief druid; and that he is influential. Considering alternatives is important, but always consider the long term also. When in doubt, select the most honest and open way. So, decide, do it. Tomorrow morning at dawn, meet me at the stables. We will ride on the Telemon for a few hours and you shall tell me what you have learnt.”

Redraic was dismissed. As he walked through the stone corridors to the citadel exit, he realised that he’d been given a reprieve. Now he must earn that, and prove himself to be a better man than his uncle believed.

By autumn the winds on the savanna had become chilling. With any luck, thought Redriac, they would cool his uncle’s annoyance with his blockhead nephew.

They rode out of the Treveri Gate and up the trail, the earl glancing stony-faced at the dormant clay works and weed-ridden Terran proving fields, but without comment. Only once they had reached the plain and their escort had drawn back did he turn to Redraic.

“Well, nephew, what have you learnt?”

“Much, uncle. More than enough to make me regret my hasty and ill-informed words yesterday. I insulted you and our House as well as the Terran, and I apologise for that. I have read your report in the archives and seen how I misjudged everyone. I let my prejudice guide me. I have learnt a lesson, uncle, and it will not happen again.”

“Well said, nephew. I too doubted the Terran’s tale when first I heard it. I too did not believe that a Terran could have carried out those feats. Neither did the Baian, and they still believe it was witchcraft. All except the chief druid. You read what he said?”

“Yes, uncle, his praise was lavish.”

“And unstinted, given with the sword on his neck. He was a brave, intelligent and well-judging man. I was sorry to have to kill him.”

“He seemed to feel the same about Ironrod. My great-uncle also has a high opinion of him, as a man.”

“Yes. It is the changes that the Terrans bring that worries our druidic fraternity, not the people themselves. You spoke to your great-uncle then?”

“Yes, I thought that was best. I approached him as a novice, but also as a kinsman who could question. I learnt much. He knew what had happened at the Red Sands, and approved of Ironrod’s actions.”

“I thought he might. Summarize what he told you, nephew. Anumcara means what?”

“Soul friend, uncle. One who eases the journey of a dying person from this world to the next. If a dying person calls you her anumcara, she not only extends the mantle of her spiritual protection over you but also casts a life-long obligation on her family to consider your wellbeing. My great-uncle made two further points. Because Ironrod created the path for her journey, rather than just easing it, his blessing on her, and hence her spiritual protection on him was enhanced. Also, as a druid is more powerful spiritually than a common man, so is her blessing or curse. The family of a druid is her druidic fraternity. If she calls a man her anumcara, she throws not only her own spiritual protection over him, but that of all Baian druids. Neither the Baian nor their druids may kill him, and must protect him from others if they can. More, if she calls him geilt, the Baian and their druids will recognise that he is a man of power, virtue and wisdom, and will respect him accordingly. My great-uncle made the point that what she gave him, though different in nature, was more than equivalent to what he gave her. He said that even among us, more secular than the Baian, this belief is one of a family of blessings and curses which are articles of faith among the clans. He pointed out, with disapproval, that they are regarded with scepticism by the ruling classes. He spoke to me as a teacher, uncle, and not a spiritual leader.”

“Never doubt your greatuncle’s intelligence and judgment, but always remember he is a druid. You have taken in what he told you and summarized it well. Do you see, nephew, why I need to know, and why you need to understand these matters?”

“I … think so, uncle. I mean, I can see that is important to know about the elevation of a Terran, but not, clearly, how it affects us.”

“Good. I am glad to see the ability to discern and grasp points of uncertainty, and to define questions, nephew. I will tell you. The Fates have offered us a helping hand. I invited the Terrans to establish their Fiann Project in Findias because we stand to benefit beyond our imagining. With lady Agnes at the helm the ship was sailing straight and true.With director Charles on the wheel, the ship is heading for the reef. Until now we had little chance of changing its course. In Ironrod we had a man whose stature among the Fiann, after Fuill Rock, was high but suspect, as many doubted his story of fighting and escaping the Baian. Now, not only have those feats been confirmed publicly by the Baian themselves, but by a bandraoi calling him geilt and declaring him her anumcara, his status has been elevated above that of almost all Findians. This Terran shines brightly and that may be useful to us.

“Nephew, my policy is to never interfere in the affairs of another leader. But we stand here to salvage something which will benefit our people greatly. You now realise that Ironrod is a man of honour and worthy of respect. I want you to get to know him. Not as my representative - do not discuss the Terran Project with him, even if he should prove willing - but as an ordinary Findian. Befriend him, if you can overcome your dislike of Terrans. I do not think you will find it difficult. Will you do that?”

“Of course, uncle, if you wish it. But he is not only not the Terran leader but all but cast out by the man who is, so I don’t see how …”

“Neither do I see how, nephew. What I do see is potential; possibility. The Fates have not smiled on us these past months, nephew. We have ventured much, and lost. Yet such are the potential gains, we must risk yet more. The elevation of this Terran may be turned to the advantage of Findias. How, I do not know, but we must nurture it and be ready to act. We are all in the hands of the Fates, nephew, but the Fates respect those who guide their own horses.”

“Now, nephew,” and he gave a smile. “Let us turn to gentler matters. Reading your report it appeared to me that your dislike of the Terrans was … selective, shall I say?”

Uh-oh: the Terran maiden. She was the main reason he’d kept his report so short, but of course his uncle had picked it up. Still, at least it looked as though he was not to be hauled over the coals this time. He reddened and gave a wry grin. “Yes, uncle. The lady Anne.”

“Anne. ‘Tis a well sounding name for a maiden. You have been seeing her?”

“Little enough, uncle. She is always busy.”

“Indeed? A maiden too busy to see a dashing, handsome, young Fiann noble?”

“You may laugh, uncle, but it is true.”

“But you saved her from abduction in the nomads’ quarter, then gave her your protection at the Red Sands Tavern.”

“Aye, uncle, I did. But saving her was just something any man of honour would do, so while she was grateful, she expected no less of me.”

“And she conveyed that, did she? A clever maiden. I'm glad to know that she regards the earl’s nephew as a man of honour. Is she a lady, a lady of honour, if one may use the term in its wider sense? After all, she barely knew you when she accepted you as escort.”

“Uncle, in the circumstances she had little choice. She was about to be abducted. But yes, she is very much a lady of honour. Though an act of poor judgment, it was her sense of honour that drove her to the nomads’ quarter, for she was off to save the Fiann boy. It was that that compelled her to accept me as escort, though later she told me later that she accepted me as her friend’s brother. Earlier, within the hospital, she spoke very boldly and, I thought initially, immodestly. But the next time I saw her, she set me straight. Aye,” he gave a rueful laugh. “I greeted her as an old friend and she gave me such a look – it is amazing how much meaning a maiden can put into a look. Her look told me I was excessively presuming, and that I would be well advised to stand back a pace or ten and, with proper respect, start again. Once I did, she told me, in case her eyes had not burnt the message into my mind already, that if I wished to address her, I should do so as a gentleman addresses a lady. She was so stiff and correct, it was like a different maiden. But once I had apologized, let me see, was it three times?”

The earl shook his head. “Is this the young man who will yield to none on the jousting field?”

“Ah, uncle, but wooing is different.”

“Ah, wooing, is it?”

Redraic blushed. “Aye, well, she’d not allow it so. But, after three or four apologies, she melted a little and in her sweet voice, thanked me for my protection that day, but also pointed out, strongly, that the circumstances were exceptional. She was lady enough to not remind me that her reason for risking herself was to rescue a Findian boy. And since then, she has been a model of propriety. She will not walk a step with me, and will speak to me only at the hospital, when I take Tana there.”

He shook his head again and the earl smiled. “She reels you in, lad, she reels you in.”

“Do you really think so, uncle? But she seems so… so disinterested. As if she, dare I say it, likes me, but only as a friend.”

“That is how they do it, lad. They learn the skill as they take in their mother’s milk.”

“I don’t think it is deliberate, uncle. I’ve seen scheming maidens - one or two of Tana’s friends - and she is not like that.”

“Aye, some of them are genuinely modest, right enough. This one may be, for all she is a Terran. That her mother is the lady Elizabeth makes it probable. But listen, lad, it may not be wise to get too involved with a Terran lass. Come Spring she may be gone.”

“I realise that, uncle, but … she has such high hopes with the Terran Project. She believes in it so utterly.”

“I found, under lady Agnes, that most of them do. And so did I. But director Charles sees it only as a stepping stone in his climb to power. He cares nothing for us, nothing for Fianna. Under Charles I would not have allowed the Project to start, and under him I could not let it continue.”

“At least the hospital is still functioning.”

“Because lady Elizabeth defied him. Her action saved the Terran Project from immediate and irrevocable closure.”

“And the fool does not realize this?”

“He did not, though he was told by Ironrod and, I’m sure, by other directors. He planned to treat her as he had treated Ironrod. With her suspended from duty, the hospital would have been maimed. Such is the loyalty to her, it may well have even closed. That, I knew, would be the knell of doom on the Terran Project. So I bent my rule of non-interference. I let him know, indirectly, that the day he moved against lady Elizabeth was the day that Terrans would be expelled from Findias. He backed down.”

“You have a very high opinion of lady Elizabeth, uncle.”

The earl gave him a long glance. “A high enough opinion to know that if I were to make her an offer, she would refuse. Yes, I do have a high opinion of her, as a person and an artist as well as a healer. But if I were to marry again, nephew, it would be to a Findian. A ruler has many constraints on his actions, and you should remember that.

“I gave director Charles that warning because I know that without the hospital, I could not have resisted the growing clamour from the Council that I expel the Terrans from Findias. Fortunately most of the council leave for their holdings shortly, to spend the winter there. So we have a respite, but given no change by Spring, the Terrans must go. If director Charles had had his way, Ironrod would have gone already. He tried to pass a motion to have Ironrod picked up by a starship from Earth. Fool: so blind and ignorant he does not realise that if such a ship visited Findias, I would be obliged to terminate the Terran Project immediately, and send all of them home.”

“Is there nothing we can do, uncle?”

“Directly, nothing, nephew. We cannot interfere. The Terran seniors have exhausted all legtimate means of replacing him, so the remedy must come from Earth. It should come from the Terran Colonial office, but it appears they are either incompetent, corrupt or both. Indirectly, perhaps, but the responsibility is theirs. What we can do without harming our House more, we are doing. The hospital is still running. You will be getting to know Ironrod, establishing a bond of friendship. So we shall see.”


	20. The entelodont

The next day Redraic went up to the Telemon at midmorning, riding to where he had seen the hoof prints. As he rounded a tongue of the woodland, he saw the boy, Ironrod’s apprentice, on the back of a greathorse. Beyond him, closer to the trees, was the Terran. Next to him, sitting on his haunches, was the wolf. The man must have a way with animals. Holdings sometimes had tamed wolves, but otherwise they were rare. Behind him stood what looked like two small bows, each mounted on a cooking tripod.

The boy was riding in a circle around the man. Was the Terran was teaching the boy to ride a greathorse?

Redraic drew his horse in, then walked him slowly forward. The Terran gave no sign of having seen him, his eyes intent on the boy. He had the horse on a long leading rein, and was speaking to the boy.

“Aye, good, lad. Now straighten your back, leaving the reins loose … aye, aye, that’s it.” The horse broke into a trot. “See how he responds to your posture? ‘Tis better to control him so, he is more at one with you, responding to your mind as your body does. They are sensitive creatures, horses. They respond to your mood. Treat them well and they will love to serve you. Treat them badly and you lose a friend and companion.”

Not just a man who hammered iron and crossed mountains, then. Redraic reined in about ten paces from the Terran. The man looked at him, nodded, then strode up to the boy and released the leading rein.

“Right, lad, now walk him to that clump of trees and back.”

As the boy rode off, the Terran turned to Redraic and said, “Well, lord Redraic, you ride late today.”

“You have been watching me, Ironmaster?” That was presumptuous.

“I climb the hill behind the smithy most mornings, to watch the sunrise light the escarpment and the plain, and to see the game. You are often there, this past month.” No, not presumptuous, but a man who, like lady Elizabeth, loved Fianna.

“I am. Today I came later, to see how your apprentice is getting on.”

Angus nodded. “Good. Your enquiry is welcome. He is learning to ride, as you see.This is his third morning out.”

“You believe an ironworker needs to be a horseman, Ironmaster?”

“Some of his work will be as farrier.”

“Agreed, but so?”

The Terran looked at him. “Do you believe a fletcher needs to be an archer?”

“Well, of course, but it is not the same.”

“I believe it is. A fletcher needs to know how his arrows will fly. He needs to know that if the feathers are attached in this way, the arrows will behave in that way in flight. Similarly a farrier must know that if a shoe is worn down in this way, it is because the horse’s gait has that characteristic.”

“I see what you mean, but few farriers ride as a regular thing.”

The Terran shrugged. “I practise and teach as I think best. Others do differently.”

“And here, Ironmaster? Do you not consider this place dangerous? You are but quarter bowshot from the woods, wherein prowl plains boars and scavenge wolves. They are hungry at this time of year.”

“They are, but the boy is mounted. The horse will bolt for home should he be threatened.”

Redraic raised his eyebrows. “The boy? What about the Terran? Your horse is as far from you as you are from the woods.”

“The Terran? Is lord Redriac concerned about a Terran?”

“Not concerned, Ironmaster. Merely interested. It is dangerous here.”

“All we do in life contains risk, some activities more than others. One’s attitude to danger depends on one’s attitude to life. One may take risk because one places a low value on life, in that one does not care whether one lives or dies, or because one places a high value on life, because danger can enhance life, add spice. As you know. You would not exercise your horse here every morning if you did not.”

“You philosophize, Ironmaster. But what you say is true. The danger adds to the exhilaration in my morning rides. But there can be little exhilaration in standing here is the cold teaching a boy to ride.”

“Ah, you admit the exhilaration. Then I will tell you a further reason of why I am teaching to boy to ride. For the skill, yes, but also to give him joy. As a low caste city boy he believed he would never have the chance to ride a horse, let alone a greathorse, but he dreamed of it.”

“So you fulfil a boy’s dreams? Though you were reluctant to undertake responsibility for him?”

“That is one reason why I was reluctant. If a man takes responsibility for a boy, he undertakes to spend the time and effort to teach that boy as best he can.”

Redraic looked at him and nodded. “That is true. But he is Fiann and you are Terran.”

“So? He is a child, and children must be nurtured.”

“All men do not think as you.”

“They must answer for themselves. I must answer for myself.”

Redraic nodded, and said, “But even so, why do you choose to train him here? Would not closer to Treveri be just a good a training ground, and safer?”

“Here he can see the wilderness, the mountains, the migrating herds. He can learn that Findias is but a small part of Fianna, that there is a great natural world out here with which he can feel in harmony. When the snows come, that will be time enough to stay near Treveri. Also he feared the wild, like most city dwellers. It is good for a boy to lose that fear while he is young. Soon he will love it, as you do.”

“But for yourself, you have no fear? The Terrans value safety above all things.”

“Do they? Do you think we are all the same? Anyway, I am not so much at risk here. You observe that we are downwind of the woods, so the hyaenodon and entelodon, which is what we call your scavenge wolf and plains boar, cannot smell us. But should they venture upwind of us, I have an early warning system.” He pointed to the dog. “Bran will smell them. Also I am not unarmed.” He nodded his head towards the bows resting on the staves.

“Those are bows of some sort? I have not seen bows like that before, so small, with a bow shaft of iron.”

“They are crossbows. You are interested in weapons?”

“Aye, mightily so, as are all hunters. May I see them?”

“Please do. I will just put the safety catch on.”

Redraic dismounted and the Terran handed the crossbow to him. “There, you may handle it as you like: it will not release the bolt unless that lever is moved across.”

“It is heavier than a longbow,” said Redraic.

“Yes, metal is stronger but much heavier than wood. The longbow has simplicity: it is a wonderful weapon in skilled hands. It has decided battles that have influenced the course of history. This weapon too,” he patted the crossbow, “has influenced history. I made it because it is intricate to make, and I too am interested in weapons.”

“But this shaft,” said Redraic. “The point is not a point at all. It is hollow, and full of holes, and blunt ended. It will not kill an animal.”

“No, it is not intended to. That bolt has another purpose, which I shall show you.”

“An iron bow with a bolt that does not kill is truly a strange weapon.”

“It is not iron, but steel. Iron has poor flexural strength, and would snap when bent. Steel is much better as it bends and will spring back into shape, as long as the deflection is within its elastic range. That it is steel is not integral to the bow. If I were a carpenter I would make it of wood. But the drawing mechanism must be of steel as it needs shear strength and malleability.”

“You speak as a man of science. I think you are no ordinary ironworker.”

“I like to delve into things, to find out why they do what they do. But many Fiann blacksmiths know the art, though not the science. They develop a feel for the metal, so they know what it can and cannot do. Any craftsman is the same, whether he works with iron or steel, copper, wood, clay. If he has not the feel, it is better he gives up the craft and does something else. Getting back to the bow - it is small, but powerful. I am a poor archer, you see, so I use technology to make up for my lack of skill.”

“You are open about your lack of skill.”

“Can you work iron?”’

“I? Of course not.”

“And you feel no shame, because it is not your craft. Likewise I feel no shame at my lack of skill with the bow. You overcome your inability to work iron by paying others to do so. I could hire a bowman to protect us, but I choose another method, by simply using a bow which needs less skill.” He touched the crossbow. “I mount it on a tripod so it is held steady and is easy to aim. I have set the sights and tensioned the bow for a hundred and fifty paces. Should a predator approach me, I have merely to get it in the sights and shoot.”

“Aye?” Redraic was intrigued. “It is that accurate? Can you show me?”

“Aye, I can. But let us go into the open, where we are less likely to be surprised by predators. I-“

A growl came from the wolf. He was standing now, facing the forest, the hairs along his spine raised.

“What is it, boy?” said the Terran softly, looking towards the trees.

Redraic scanned the woodland, and soon spotted a darker patch. He narrowed his eyes and peered. “Aye … aye. I thought it might be him.” He spoke softly. “A plains boar, one of the big ones, male, old and rogue. I saw him a few days ago, up the valley. I think he hears us. His sight is bad, but his hearing good.” He held up his hand for silence.

Bran growled again, then snarled, hackles rising, as the shape in the trees coalesced. A huge red-brown creature stood there, taller than a man, with a spined back sloping down to its hindquarters. The head was massive, long and pointed, and two tusks projected from its jaws.

“Dinohyus,” muttered the Terran.

Bran barked, and immediately the beast swung around and charged.

“Come,” yelled Redraic, springing onto his horse, though he knew there would not be time for them to escape.

The Terran ignored him and leapt to the second crossbow, swung the sights to the great animal, now only fifty paces away, aimed it and pulled the trigger. No arrow could penetrate that skull, thought Redraic, but the most hideous howling filled the air, growing louder as the arrow began to weave in the air, the sound rising and falling. The boar’s head jerked up and the animal veered away and crashed back into the woodlands. Redraic’s greathorse snorted and plunged.

The Terran turned to face Redraic, his face split with a huge grin. “It worked, ha, I wondered if it would.”

“By the Morrigan,” said Redraic, “that sounded like the cries of the tormented dead. But come on, those rogues are unstable, he might…” he peered into the forest. “Get the other bow and let’s get out of here.”

The Terran nodded, grabbed the second bow and both tripods, and started walking.

“No,” said Redraic, leaning down and offering a hand, “I don’t trust that big bastard, we need to get out of here quickly.”

Even as he spoke, he heard a shrill neighing. He looked up to see the boy’s greathorse galloping away, and the boy lying on the sand. The boar charged out of the forest again, but slowed when it realised the greathorse was out of range. It stopped, not fifty paces from the boy, and began peering around. The boy lay quite still, petrified.

The Terran shouted, “Keep down, Laeg,” and began walking towards the boar, the crossbow tripods in his hand.

“Wait,” called Redraic, but the Terran ignored him.

The boar swung round to face him, its head moving from side to side as it strove to pick up his scent. As the Terran walked he loaded first one crossbow, then the other. Suddenly the boar’s head went rigid and its tail shot up vertically. Redraic knew at this meant it had located its quarry and was about to charge. He yelled, and galloped off at an angle to draw the great beast away from the Terran. But the Terran had stopped, splayed the legs of the tripods and aimed the first crossbow towards the boar. The first bolt sped towards the great beast, making the howling noise again. Redraic felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. The boar stopped again, its head moving from side to side. The noise obviously made it feel uneasy. Quickly the Terran dropped another bolt into the other crossbow, aimed carefully, then let it fly at the stationary animal. There was a thud as the bolt hit the great animal’s head. It staggered, grunted, then turned and ran off to the forest.

“Now come,” shouted Redraic. “Before he comes back again.” He held out his hand to the Terran, who shouldered his weaponry, grasped Redraic’s hand, stepped up onto his boot, and swung onto the horse’s back. Immediately Redraic urged his horse forward, trotting towards the boy.

Terror on his face, the boy sprang his feet and ran towards them. As he reached them, Redraic reached down, took hold of the boy’s forearm and lifted him up to sit on the horse in front of him. Then they rode towards the Terran’s greathorse, which was standing near the river shifting his feet nervously. The Terran slid down from Redraic’s horse and mounted his own, taking the boy in front of him.

As they cantered away from the forest, Redraic said, “By Belenos, man, I thought you were dead when you started walking towards the boar.”

The Terran shrugged. “We had to get it away from Laeg.”

“Aye, but…” Redraic shook his head. “I thought freeing that Baian bandraoi was bold, but a plains boar! I’ll never question Terran courage or daring again. Or recklessness.”

The Terran smiled and said, “Thank you for your assistance, lord Redraic.”

“I jest about the reckness. Call me Redraic, Goba Oenghus. It is clear to me that you are my equal in honour and courage, and far more than my equal in knowledge and learning.”

“Call me Angus then, Redraic. You honour me by your words. Knowledge and learning are simply a matter of environment, culture and opportunity. Honour and courage are more vital qualities, and those you do not lack, from all I have heard. Nor recklessness,” and he grinned. “Anyway, thank you for your help, Redraic.”

“It looked as though you scarcely needed it, Angus.”

“Oh, I think we did. I don’t think the howler would have worked a third time.”

“Howler. That is a good name for it. It sounded like the tormented cries of those condemned to wander forever in the wastes of Uffern. But why do you use such a device? And I saw that the second bolt, not a howler, merely bounced off the boar’s head. Will your bolts not penetrate the creature’s skull?”

“At close enough range, they will. But my purpose is not to kill, but merely to frighten away. The second bolt was blunt ended. I call it a stunner. Though headache-maker might be the better term in this case.”

“Ha, headache-maker. No doubt that big bastard has one now. And serve him right! But you chose not to kill? Ah, I remember, the Terrans do not believe in killing.”

“I will kill if I have to,” said the Terran, “but this is the Dinohyus’s land, not mine.”

“The what? Is that what you call the plains boar?”

“Yes. On Earth it was a member of the entelodont family. One of the biggest.”

“Aye, well, it is the biggest here, no bloody doubt.”

Angus smiled. “Yes. Dinohyus is the zoological name, but having faced him, I think that the Terminator Pig is a better name.”

“The Terminator Pig! Ha, another good name. But you say it is his land, not yours?”

“Yes. His planet, his plains, his home. I am the trespasser. If it is a question of him or me and mine, I will kill him if I can. But if I can just drive him away, I will.”

“More philosophy.”

“A man without a philosophy is like a boat without a rudder. He is worse than an animal, for an animal has an inborn philosophy. We have the intelligence to develop a philosophy particular to each individual.”

“I don’t know that I have a philosophy. I am just a hunter.”

“Do you slaughter every beast you see in your hunting?”

“Of course not!”

“Why not?”

“It would be wasteful, pointless, stupid, wrong. To kill one or two animals for sport and for the pot is all right. To kill and to leave the bodies to rot is wrong, more than wrong, evil.”

“So, you have a philosophy. You do not kill unnecessarily. Many men do not formalise their philosophies, but they have them nonetheless.”

Redraic laughed. “I will take your word for it, Angus. I am more at home with long bows, spears, boars, hunting. I am very interested in these crossbows of yours.”

“Ah, there you see a primary difference between us. I am a technophile. I make things for the challenge of making them. You use them for the excitement of using them.”

Redraic laughed again. “You make everything into philosophy. Do you do anything without examining its entrails?”

Angus shook his head with a smile. “I do it too much, and it leads to trouble. But if you would care to come to my workshop in Treveri, you can examine the bows I have made.”

As they are approached the ford on the river, Angus pointed to a cloud of dust and said, “Somebody is travelling early.”

“The Aedua party. I heard they were leaving today. Aedua holding is a long day’s journey by wagon.”

“Aedua?” said Angus. “Lady Chiomara?”

“Aye,” said Redraic. “Her holding is in the foothills of the Algonim.”

Even as he spoke, Angus urged his horse into a canter, riding into a spur of the woods near the ford. Redraic joined him and, they watched from the trees as the wagon rumbled past on the other side of the river. A grey-haired man was driving the wagon, the maiden Eimher sitting next to him on the bench. Of lady Chiomara there was no sign. Behind the wagon rode three men-at-arms, with Turig at the back, then a further six behind him. He sat slumped in his saddle, scowling, his face fixed on the wagon. Even as they watched, he drove his spurs into his horse so that it reared and neighed shrilly, then galloped past the wagon and up the trail, puffs of dust spurting from its hooves. The wagon curtains stirred, and lady Chiomara looked out. Angus drew back, but the woman had already withdrawn her head.

“You do not wish to be seen?” asked Redraic.

“I have caused enough grief to lady Chiomara. Seeing me would doubtless raise bitter feelings.”

“Yet the death of Ortiagon was the result of an unfortunate chain of events, many of which he himself caused.”

Angus shook his head. “I was a link in that chain. If I had not done what I did, she would have a living husband.”

“Aye, that cannot be denied, but if the sum of fault was weighed, his pan would be overflowing, while yours would contain barely a cupful. Many say his death was divine justice. None say it was not deserved.”

“A man’s wife can not be expected to see it like that. Because of my action, her children are fatherless, and she has to face the troubles of this life alone.”

“You take too great a burden on your shoulders, man. The arrow of what you say is true, but the flight of that arrow is that Ortiagon was certainly a bad husband and very likely a bad father. In Fianna he was known as a whoremonger and a drunkard. He was also a bad holder, careless and neglectful, and my uncle had given him the first warning.”

“Still, she now has to manage the holding alone, and bring up her children alone.”

“I think, Angus, that she may be wishing that she could indeed carry out those tasks alone. Unfortunately, from what I hear, her cousin Turig is likely to force his help upon her.”

Angus was silent as they watched the wagon rumble away. Then he said, “That man is a coward and a bully. Can nothing be done?”

“For me, I would be happy to run him through. But,” Redraic shrugged, “it is a family affair. The earl may not interfere. He has removed the boy Conchobar from Turig’s influence, and will send him to my father at Tolosa to train as a holder. He can do no more.”

“Tolosa, ah. Lord Crimthann of Tolosa ordered wrought iron gates from me when I left Findias for Treveri. I was grateful, for it kept me busy at a bad time for me. But also surprised, for I had never heard of Tolosa or its lord.”

“Nor he of you, Angus. It was my uncle’s doing. The gates are now up, and my father is more than happy with them.”

“Excellent. I suspected it was the earl’s doing. He’s a good man, a good leader, and lady Chiomara would have done better to have stayed in Findias, under his protection. I do not trust that Turig.”

“The Aedua holding needs her. In a few weeks the Telamon will be closed for the winter. She must go now if she is to go at all. She has a strong sense of duty. She is of family Senonia. They were all but wiped out in a Baian raid not long ago. I understand her closest living relative is her second cousin, Turig.”

Angus looked at him. “For a man who sole interest is hunting, you know a lot about your uncle’s subjects.”

Redraic laughed. “Not through choice, Angus. My uncle has told me that I must take an interest in our country. These past weeks I have taken instruction from many wise men. And one wise woman: for learning about my uncle’s barons, he sent me to my mother. She knows everything about everyone. If you had asked me three weeks ago on these matters, all I could have told you would have been that Ortiagon and Turig were small barons with holdings somewhere across the Telamon plain, that one of them had a beautiful wife, and that they often got drunk together in Findias.”

As they rode up the trail, Angus looked back at the wagon in the distance and said, “It goes against the grain to leave a woman with a man like that.”

“She is a strong person,” said Redraic. “She can hold her own.”

“If she has to resist a violent man, all the strength of personality in the world is irrelevant. No woman can hold her own against a thug.”

“And you think Turig is such a man.”

“I think he has the potential to turn violent against anyone weaker than himself. I hope that lady Chiomara can see that and will handle him accordingly.”

“My mother says she is clever as well as strong. It is due to her that my uncle had not chastised Ortiagon before.”

“I hope your mother is right. In any event there is nothing that you or I can do. Come, let us go to the smithy and I will show you the bows.”


	21. Early Winter - Rescue in the blizzard

A wonderful day on the Telamon, perhaps the last day for hunting on the high plains before winter set in. They had been after a forest bear, but the tracker had lost the trail in the dells and hillocks, where the snow already lay thick. Redraic felt exhilarated. Just being out there on the Telamon in the snow, with the austere beauty and the fresh breeze and the silence, had been wonderful. His uncle felt it too, Redraic was sure, and no one needed it more than him.

The anti-Terran faction had torn into him at the meeting yesterday, calling them a pack of curs and demanding he send them packing. Secretly Redraic agreed. The prestige of the House of Lugh and goodwill towards the earl was leaking away, and for what? A worm like the Terran leader. Send them packing, yes. Except that the lady Anne was a Terran, and so was Angus. Damn and blast.

Now they were trotting home across the Telamon, looking forward to a log fire and beakers of hot spiced wine. The earl was riding his grey hunter next to Redraic, the four huntsmen behind him. All had their heads wrapped against the icy wind and occasional gusts of snow so that only the eyes were showing. Snorts of condensing steam were coming from the horses’ nostrils’ and a horse would occasionally raise a great hoof and drop it with a thud. Around them the land was covered in a layer of snow fetlock deep.

His uncle’s chief huntsman, a grey-haired man with the weatherbeaten face of an outdoorsman, rode up alongside them, and said, “It may clear tomorrow, lord, after the storm that is coming.”

“Aye, Maine, it may, but I think that that the bear will not stir tomorrow. He may well have decided that this snowstorm heralds the onset of winter, and will hibernate until spring. Anyway,” the earl turned to Redraic, “I am meeting with the council tomorrow.”

Redraic looked around. This seemed as good a place and time as any, and the men with them were loyal, bonded to his uncle by the shared experience of many hunting expeditions. Night would fall in two hours, and nobody would be out on the plains of Telamon during a gathering snowstorm.

“Uncle, I have something to show you.” Redraic pulled it from the saddlepack.

“A crossbow,” said the earl. “We have a few in the armoury, but in wood. This is smaller and made of wrought iron. Surely it is too stiff to use?”

“It is steel, Uncle, rather than iron, so it will not snap. It is a guard bow, for setting around the camp at night. You may leave it tensioned, and the steel will not creep like wood.”

“Steel. Bave, what do you think?”

“Metal is heavy, lord.”

“These are used on stands, tripods, Bave, pointing out into the night. For the earl’s challenge, to guard the camp.”

“Bow staves that do not creep would be useful, lord. But we would need ten or more, lord. Also, I do not think our armourer can make these. The metal is too pure.”

“Angus says the purity is in the smelting,” said Redraic. “He says he will teach us the art.”

“He will not teach us to make weapons, nephew. That is forbidden by their Charter.”

“He will teach us to make steel, uncle, and that has many uses. Everything he can do, uncle, he will teach us. He is willing to teach us even the brewing of his Treveri ale.”

“Ah, lord,” said Bave, “that is a skill worth having. I will learn that, and when I am too old to hunt, I will brew.”

“To drink or to sell, Bave?” asked the earl, and the other men laughed.

“With such ale, lord, it would be a temptation to drink it all.”

The earl handed the bow back to Redraic. “So, it seems you have found your acquaintance with the Terran worthwhile.”

“Very, uncle. He knows more of the technology of bows than any bow maker I have ever spoken to. And not only bow making. He talks of hunting, then philosophy, then bow making, then training of children, and each topic blends into the next seamlessly. I wish you would meet with him. I mean, again, just to talk of this and that.”

“I cannot meet any Terran socially, and particularly him. His leader will just persecute him further.”

“Lord.” Maine rode up. “Lord, Mende believes the storm is imminent. Do you not think it would be best to return to Findias now?”

Redraic looked up. The sky was a leaden grey. Out on the Telamon, it looked even more ominous.

“Aye, Maine,” said the earl, “I think you are right. The trail is barely distinguishable, even now. Redraic, I am very interested in this bow, and when the time is right, I would wish to speak to the Terran about it. Come, let us return to Findias, and a beaker of mulled wine.”

They had just reached the point where the trail rose into the Treveri hills, when they heard a faint horn call.

Redraic wheeled his horse around. “That came from the Algonim Trail.”

“Aye,” said the earl, “it sounded like it. But who can be out there, who would be insane enough to be out there in this weather?”

The horn call came again.

“Aye, definitely from the trail.”

“Lord,” said Maine, “you cannot go. Even if we had tracker Conar with us, it would be suicide to venture out there. You cannot go, lord.”

“Mende, how far away do you estimate they are?”

The tracker shook his head. “’Tis a faint call, Lord, but from a auroch’s horn, which produces a well travelling sound. Allowing for the snow, five, maybe seven miles?”

“’Tis too far, lord,” said Maine. “In this weather, in this light, in the snow, two hours to get there. Come nightfall, lord, we will never find the trail back.”

The call came again, faintly. “Those might be my people out there.”

“They might be Baian, lord, seeking to trap and kill the earl of Findias. It is not safe to go. If you wish for someone to go, then I will go with Mende. But you cannot go, lord.”

The earl shook his head. “If it is too dangerous for me to go, it is too dangerous for my men to go. But whoever is out there is going to die. No one can survive out of shelter overnight in this. We could build cairns as we go, to find our way back again.”

“Lord, forgive me, but it is too late in the day, building cairns will take too long, visibility is too poor, a storm is coming. You must not go.”

The earl looked at him, then out into the Telamon. The snow was falling, not thickly, but away in the west, a grey curtain was approaching. “I think you are right. We have not equipment for a night in the snow. There is no time to get to Findias and back.” He stopped as the horn call came again. This time an answering call came from behind them, up in the hills.

He turned in the saddle. “What is that? Nothing is up there.

“No, uncle,” said Redraic, “but the hunting lodge is not far below the ridge on the far side. Ironrod is there.”

“No Terran will be out in this place at this time, lord,” said Maine.

They sat listening. Another call, another answer.

“Ironrod might,” said Redraic. He turned to face up the hill, cupping a hand behind an ear. “We shall soon see. Someone is coming down the path from the lodge.”

The earl rode forward. “If it is Ironrod, say I am your … your servant.”

“But uncle...”

The earl jerked his head towards the trail as a shape solidified out of the falling snow. Angus came into view, riding his greathorse, another horse on a lead behind him. Hooded and caped in oilskins, a woollen scarf covering his nose and mouth, only his eyes were visible.

Redraic rode to meet him. “Angus, man, where are you going? Out there, to answer the horn call?”

“Redraic. Good to see you. Aye, I am going out there. Coming?” Then he looked beyond Redraic at the earl and the men at arms, riding up.

“This is my … are my men,” said Redraic. “We are returning from a hunting expedition - unsuccessful.” Then he went on, “But it’s a blizzard out there, man. Those people out there are lost. How will you find your way?”

“I have a compass. Oh, you do not know it.” He held out a small brass cup with glass over the top. Inside was a tiny red dancing needle. “I will use this to find my way. It is safe. Or rather, fairly safe.”

Redraic frowned. “How can that make it safe? You are going out into the Telamon in a blizzard, with night coming? My tracker was just saying it is certain death out there.”

The faint horn call came again.

Angus lifted the horn lying at his side to his lips and sounded it. Then he said, “For them, it is. For me, provided I keep my head, it should be no more than a few hours of cold and wet. But yes, it could be dangerous, and you have a responsibility to your men.”

“But what if there is a party out there? And you just one man? You need help, man.”

“I’ll not deny that help would be welcome.”

“And you’re going to trust your life to that little thing in your hand. For myself, I know you and I trust you, and it’ll be a grand adventure, but for … for my men,” and he looked at his uncle.

“Where you go, lord,” said the earl, “we go.” He nodded his head, and Redraic could see he was determined to go if he, Redraic, went.

But his huntsteward was determined he should not. “Lord,” he said, but the earl raised his hand. Maine frowned but fell silent.

“No man need come should he have doubts,” said Angus. “The trail back to Findias is still clear.”

Maine scowled at him. “It is not for ourselves that we have doubts. Any Fiann will dare more than any Terran. It is what we risk, what Findias risks, on the word of a mere Outlander. You do not know-” He stopped as the earl raised his hand again.

“As the ironmaster says, we need only two or three-”

Maine’s back stiffened, and he said, “Where you go, lord, we follow, be it to Uffern.”

Angus looked from one to the other, then at Redraic and said, “Those people out there will be frightened and suffering from exposure. I must go. Those who are coming, come.”

“Let’s go then,” said Redraic, “and you can tell me of this instrument as we ride.” He urged his horse alongside Angus as they turned up the trail.

“You have heard of the iron fish that sea captains use?” said Angus. His voice was muffled by the layers of cloth he had pulled up over his mouth and nose. “This is a dry iron fish or lodestone. The red needle always points to the north.”

“Ah, my … my headman will want to hear this.” He turned and waved his uncle up alongside them. “This is Luath. He is my father’s most trusted retainer.”

Angus nodded. “Welcome, headman Luath. You are interested in navigation?”

“I am,” said the earl. “I am interested in all knowledge.”

“That is good,” said Angus, looking at him. “You are welcome to accompany Redraic at any time to Treveri. This,” he held up the brass case, “is a compass, identical in use to the iron fish which sea captains navigate by.”

“Aye,” said Redraic, “but how can that help you?”

“Well, you know that the trail to the pass over the Algonim runs north-north-east across the Telamon.”

Redraic gave a short laugh. “I do not know that. I know where it runs because I can see it. I recognise the landmarks – but in a blizzard, who can recognise anything?”

“Imagine that you are a hawk flying over the Telamon. Below you, you can see the river, the patches of woodland, the open country. You can also see the trail winding across the plain, going from landmark to landmark, from the pile of boulders shaped like a dragon’s back, to the blasted tree, to the place where your grandfather’s wagon lost its wheel,” and Redraic laughed, “and so on across the plain, from feature to feature. Now imagine it is night. How will you cross the Telamon?”

“I won’t,” said Redraic. “I value my skin too highly. Too many wild beasts prowl the Telamon at night.”

Angus nodded. “Point taken. But imagine that it was safe. How would you cross?”

“With great care and trepidation, my eyes firmly on the trail to make sure I did not stray.”

“Ah, with your eyes on the trail. And you, headman Luath?”

Redraic drew back slightly at this familiar way of addressing the earl, but his uncle patted the air in a calming gesture, and said, “No, I think I would rather look at the stars.”

“Ah, you have it. Redraic, you know that the stars rotate around a stationary axis, and you can establish the point where that axis crosses the horizon by dropping a vertical line from the intersection of the extrapolated line of the tail of the Boar, and the line joining the two stars forming the handle of the Scimitar.”

“My father’s chief tracker told me about this once. I thought he was laughing at me, with his verticals and extrapolations and intersections. It sounded so complicated I have never bothered to use it.”

“He was serious,” said Angus. “That point aligns with Fianna’s rotational axis, so it is fixed, unvarying, always the same, night and day. So if you look during twilight and see where the pass is in relation to that point, you can use the same relationship at night to point out the direction of the pass.”

“Aye,” said Redraic doubtfully. “It all seems a bit chancy though.”

“Yes, it gives only a rough guide, and the relationship becomes more sensitive the closer you get to the pass. And if it is cloudy, you can’t see the sky. But this,” he held out the compass, “is easier to use. The needle aligns with Fianna’s magnetic axis, which also does not change. The red end points north, always. So if we know, for example, that the foot of the pass is north-north-east from here and, using the compass to guide us, we travel on that bearing for long enough, we will reach the foot of the pass.”

“Aye, but we are not going to the pass. And if those people were on the trail, they would not be blowing their horn.”

“And the trail is not straight,” said Angus. “ But we will not use the compass to find the lost travellers. We will find them by following the horn calls. But we can get back to Treveri using the compass, if we have to. It would be better to use the trail though, for we know it is clear of boulders, and there is no chance of a horse breaking a leg. It would be best if we could leave as much of the marking of our passing as we can, to follow back. So if we ride in twos, close together, we should leave a distinct track. Redraic, you and Luath have the biggest horses, you should go first, and I will follow with your men. I think we should move more quickly now, for who knows what condition those travellers are in.”

They cantered through the snowstorm, the horses snorting and tossing their heads occasionally, showing their unwillingness. The trail was still visible, but at the rate at which the snow was falling, it would soon become indistinguishable from the surrounding countryside, except to a tracker like Mende. The trees and bushes became shrouded with snow, and Redraic found it difficult to recognise in the landmarks on the trail. Every now and then the distress call came, and from behind them came the answer. Gradually it grew nearer. But when Redraic suggested leaving the trail to go in the direction of the call, Angus said, “I think it would be better if we stayed on the trail as long as we can. That’ll make getting back here easier. So if we stay on the trail until they seem to be at about right angles to us, that would probably give about the shortest distance.”

Redraic looked at the earl and he nodded.

They rode on, until Angus called, “About here, Redraic.” He sounded the horn, and the answering call seemed close. Angus took out the instrument and looked at it closely as they left the trail.

They walked the horses across the broken ground until a regular shape coalesced out of the falling snow. It was a two wheeled cart, leaning at an angle with the end of one axle resting on the ground. A spoked wheel lay next to it.

In front of it stood a grey-haired man holding a heavy wooden stave.

“Who are you?” he called.

“Strange greeting for his rescuers,” said Redraic. “Who are you, old man, and what are you doing here?”

“I am headman Ruadan, in service to the lady Chiomara of Aedua. I am travelling to Findias.”

“Alone, at this time of year? Are you mad, man?”

“Aye, I am alone. Who are you?”

“By the Morrigan, man, does it matter who we are?”

“Aye, it matters, greatly. Who are you?”

“We will freeze to death here, bandying words with a serving man,” said Redraic, and called, “I am Redraic of Tolosa, and this is Goba Oenghus Ironmaster, the Terran.”

“Oenghus Ironmaster caused my master’s death.”

“By Belenos, man, you are in no position to choose your rescuers,” shouted Redraic. “We ride through a blizzard for hours, and now are called to account by the one we have risked our lives for? Come, we will go, and leave this fool to his fate.” He began reining his horse around when a young woman’s voice called out:

“Nay, lord, please. Forgive us. Headman Ruadan but strives to protect me. We are grateful for your sacrifice and your offer of help. You are indeed lady Tana’s brother?”

Redraic swung his horse back and stared at the slight figure coming out from behind a tree.

“A maiden!” said the earl, and Angus turned and looked at him. “What madness is this? Who are you, and what are you doing here, in this desolate place, in such weather and at such an hour? You, man, what are you doing, bringing this maiden here?”

“Oh sir,” said the maiden, “do not blame headman Ruadan. He would not have brought me except at my insistence. But the horse bolted, and then the wheel hit a rock and broke.”

“Aye,” said the earl. “So we see.” He turned to his men. “Bave, see if the wheel is serviceable. Well, madam?” He said, turning to the woman, “you have not told me who you are and what you are doing here.”

“Sir,” she said, “I am Eimher, sister of Lady Chiomara of Aedua. I am travelling to Findias, seeking my … my husband, Conchobar of Aedua.”

“Conchobar? Your husband?” said Redraic. “I did not know-” His uncle raised a hand and Redraic fell silent.

“Conchobar of Aedua has been sent by the earl to Tolosa.”

“Oh.” Redraic saw her shoulders slump. “He is not in Findias?”

“No, madam, he is not. Tolosa is in the Algonim foothills, like Aedua, but far to the north-east. Conchobar cannot return to Findias until snowmelt in Spring.”

“Spring! Oh, no!” The maiden turned and stumbled towards a low boulder, sat down and covered her face with her hands.

Angus looked at the earl, placed his hand on his stomach, and tipped his head towards the maiden. The earl nodded. He rode forward as Redraic said to the manservant, “Come, your mistress is unwell. We must get her to Findias.”

Ruadan glared at him. “I know that, lord. That is what I am trying to do.”

“Bave?” said the earl.

The huntsman, squatting next to the cart, stood up. “Axle is fine, lord, but the wheel - a smithy job. The iron tyre has split, and three spokes are broken. Bad craftsmanship. We’ll tie it to the carthorse, take it back to Findias for repair.”

“We will have to leave the cart,” said the earl.

“Lord,” protested Ruadan, “I am responsible to lady Chiomara for that cart.”

“By Belenos, man,” said Redraic, “look at the weather and the distance we have to go. It’s odds on that, come the second watch this night, lady Chiomara will have neither sister, headman nor cart. Come, mount Ironrod’s spare horse and let’s away.”

“Aye,” said the earl, “we must ride, and swiftly. Your cart will still be here, little the worse, come the spring.”

He rode up next to where the maiden was sitting slumped, her hands still over her face. He dismounted and took her hand. “Come, child,” he said. “You shall ride with me. Whatever the matter is, it is not irredeemable. When we get to Findias you will go to lady Tana at Tolosa House, and stay with her. As soon as the Telamon is open again, your husband Conchobar will be sent for.”

She looked up at him and her eyes widened. Then she rose, curtseyed and said, “Thank you, lord.”

They set off again, leaving the cart standing forlorn, its shafts in the air. Tracker Mende went in front, with huntsman Barre, young with good eyesight, scanning the way carefully. Finding the trail again proved easy, and they turned back down it.

At first they made good progress for the tracks were fresh and clear, but they slowed as the hollows filled with fresh snow, and the tracks became more and more obscure.

Night was falling when Redraic said, “We’ll need your Terran magic soon, Angus.”

“Aye, it is there when we need it. But I think we need light more than magic now.” He leant back and pulled two pitch torches from his panniers. He lit them with an ember from a coal carrier, and passed them to Maine and Bave, instructing them to ride next to but behind the trackers, to light their way.

By Redraic’s assessment, they were more than halfway back before they lost the trail. The depressions had vanished, and it was only the smoothness of the way had told him they were still on the trail. But as he well knew, some parts of the plains were smooth as well. Then the ground underfoot became rough. Mende and Barre began casting around, but it was plain that they were well off the trail.

The maiden said, “Are we lost now, lord?”

“No, lady, the Terran has an instrument which will show us the way,” said the earl.

Redraic looked at Angus, who said, “We can find the way by the compass, but it will be across country, so the travelling will be slow.”

“Lord,” said Ruadan, “Lady Chiomara would not have the life of lady Eimher entrusted to the Terran who caused the death of lord Ortiagon. I would rather-”

“By Belenos, man,” said Redraic. “It is not just the maiden’s life, but the lives of … of all of us. We have lost the trail, and will not find it again this side of Belthane. For myself, I would rather trust the Terran than the mercies of a Telamon blizzard. But do you as you choose. The lady Eimher comes with us.”

“So Terran magic cannot find the trail?” said Ruadan.

“No, headman Ruadan,” said Angus, “for it is not magic, but merely a tool, and like all tools, it has limitations. In the hands of a skilled user, it could well be used to find the trail. But I am no skilled user, so we will merely aim for Treveri.”

“That good enough for you, old man?” said Redraic. “Or would you rather bumble about here in the snow until your bones freeze?”

Ruadan looked at him and said, “If the Terran can save my mistress from the Telamon, that will be good enough for me, lord.”

“Lord.” It was the huntsteward, Maine, speaking. He was looking at the earl. “Lord, if we cast back, we can find the trail. We should not rely on Terran magic.”

The earl looked at Redraic and raised his eyebrows.

“It is too late, Maine,” said Redraic. “It is dark now, and soon it may start snowing again. Finding the trail will take too long, not to speak of the time spent in searching to stay on the trail after that. I think we must go on while we still can. Already the snow is calf deep.”

“If it were earlier in the day,” said Angus, “I would agree with huntsman Maine, for travelling on the trail is easier. But it is too late for that. Right now, quickest is safest, and quickest and safest is to use the compass. I understand your concern, huntsman Maine. You are reluctant to trust something you do not understand. But your shipmasters use it, so it is not totally alien to Fianna.”

The huntsman looked at the earl. He gave a slight nod, and the man stepped back.

“Tracker Mende,” said Angus, “please come and ride next to me. I may need your eyes and skills to distinguish the trail when we cross it. Redraic, would you bring up the rear. Huntsman Maine, I leave you to arrange the torches as you see fit.”

The earl nodded to his men, and they moved up into position.

“I am concerned, Angus Ironmaster,” said the earl, riding up alongside him. “I have seen a shipmaster use the iron fish, and it seems to me that a very slight error in following the bearing would lead us wrong. To find the exact point at which the trail enters the Treveri Hills will be very difficult. To the east of the trail is the Treveri Gorge. The cliffs there are unstable. That is dangerous country when covered in snow.”

“You are right, headman Luath. It would be foolhardy to rely on the compass to guide us exactly to Treveri Pass. But we know that there is a game path that runs east-west along the foot of the Treveri Hills. The game path is easy to hit somewhere along its length. So instead of going exactly on the bearing to the pass trail, we go on a bearing slightly west until we hit the path, and turn east along the path until we reach the pass trail where it enters the Treveri Hills.”

“It all sounds very complicated,” said Redraic.

“Yes, when I explain it all in words, with new concept following new concept, it is difficult to grasp. But as we do it you will see it is all very simple.”

“Nay,” said the earl, “you have explained it clearly enough. I understand what you mean. It is a mixture of the theoretical and the practical, dead reckoning with an allowance for inaccuracy.”

“Exactly,” said Angus. “That is precisely it, headman Luath. It is just like life, where you have an objective in mind, but your journey towards it is not always in a straight line.”

Redraic laughed, and turned to the earl. “Just as I told you, uncle, he links everything to philosophy.”

“Uncle?” said Angus, and Redraic could hear that he was smiling.

“Ahhh,” said Redraic, striking his head with the heel of his hand. “Blabbermouth has let the cat out of the bag.”

“Nay, nephew. I think the ironmaster had already guessed.”

“Indeed I had, lord. I recognised your voice. Even if I hadn’t, your words, the way you spoke, your mannerisms, all told me of your identity. If I’d had any doubt, the way you took command when we met lady Eimher would have swept them away.”

The darkness grew more intense as they travelled, the horses at no more than a walk. Soon however, they were journeying even more slowly, for the snow began again. Within half an hour the blizzard had returned, the snowflakes stinging the flesh as they flew into their faces. When visibility had lessened to twenty paces, the Terran stopped and, uncoiling a long thin rope, he tied one end to the harness of his horse, then threaded the rope through the harnesses of all the other horses. “No one gets lost,” he called, cheerfully, against the blast of the snow.

“Lord,” said Maine softly, when Angus had passed, “We trust a needle on a pin with our lives?”

“No, Maine. We trust lord Redraic’s judgment of a man. And my judgment also. Remember, this is the man who fought and escaped the Baian, who climbed the Uabhal Mor, came down the Staca Wall and through the Beinn nam Bodach at night, to reach Findias in the dawn, using this same needle on a pin to guide him. He is geilt, Maine.”

“Geilt, lord? The Terran?” It was the light voice of the maiden. She was now sitting behind his uncle.

Redraic did not catch his uncle’s reply, but yes, Angus was geilt. The Baian bandraoi had seen that too. He was wise and skilled and knowledgeable, above other men. He looked beyond the surface, into the soul of things.

They travelled on, a line of shrouded figures, the horses plodding through through the snow, heads down. Redraic could feel his own mount shivering, and every now and then he gave a snort, as if to clear his nostrils of snow.

The ferocity of the blizzard increased, and they slowed even more. All anyone could do was to ensure that the cord linking his horse to the next did not become taut, for jerking would distract Angus and slow them even further. In front of him, Redraic could see the Terran’s bowed figure, tracker Mende next to but behind him, on a separate cord. Even he had given up all attempt at route finding and was just following the Terran as blindly as the rest of them. They were totally dependent on Terran magic now. If that failed, they would die here in the snow. Findias would need a new earl. The rule of the House of Lugh would be no more. Had he been rash, bringing his uncle on this escapade? Maybe, but here and now they had only one course open to them: trust the Terran.

After what seemed endless time, Mende suddenly raised his head, sniffed the air and called, “Treveri Pine, just ahead,” and trotted up to ride next to Angus.

A hundred paces further on the ground started to rise, and soon they saw the trees looming. As if sensing their escape, the blizzard grew even fiercer.

They entered the woodland and Mende, pointing to a strip of depression in the snow that crossed their direction of travel, called out, “The game path.” Shielded by the foliage overhead, the way was easy to see.

As they swung to the east, Redraic raised a clenched fist to salute the Terran, and his uncle nodded. It was too cold to speak but, sheltered from wind and snow by the trees, the going became easier. The horses, sensing the lifting in the moods of their riders, soon broke into a canter. Not long afterwards they met the main trail and turned up into the hills.

When they reached the fork, Angus said, “You are welcome, lord, with all the party, to come to the lodge. I can offer food and drink, and warmth from the forge.”

“Aye, uncle, we can thaw out, and sample Angus’s ale. You can see Angus’s bows.”

The earl gave a courteous nod, but said, “I would like to accept your hospitality, ironmaster, but our absence in this storm will have caused alarm in Findias. We must hasten there as quickly as we can. I thank you for your help this day. You have saved the lives of this maiden and her headman.” He leant forward. “We would not have ventured out onto the Telamon without the reassurance of you and your compass. If we had, we would still be back there in the snow, and who could say how many would be alive come the dawn.”

“Aye,” said Redraic. “We’d have found her without you, but getting back would have been another story.”


	22. Early Spring - the missing lordling

The Algonim trail was still icy, but muddy in patches after the recent thaw. Every now and then as they passed a clump of trees, they would hear a plop as a branch discharged its load of snow. But even the shrubs showed no budding yet.

“See what I mean, Angus, man?” said Redriac. “Spring down on the flood plain does not mean spring up on the Telamon.”

“I do,” said Angus. “What will it be, a month before Spring arrives here?”

“Nay, two weeks, three at the most. We don’t play around on Fianna. Once the seasons decide to change, they do it quickly.”

“I’ll enjoy it while I can, then.”

“Aye. Aye, best that you do.”

Angus glanced at him, then stared at the mountains. Though far across the plain, they were clear in the cold air and brightly lit by the winter sun. Redraic watched as the Terran’s head swung slowly one way, then the other, scanning across the range. Did he realize his time was short? Yes, obviously, for the trial period would be up in less than two months, but he could not know the earl would not wait for that. Should Redraic tell him? Not actual dates, he didn’t know those and could not divulge them if he had. Still the Terran was a friend now, and a good one. How would he, Redraic, feel if a close friend knew something that mattered to him and didn’t tell him? Betrayed enough to end the friendship, no question. So how was he to do it? Angus had always refused to discuss the Project.

He was mulling it over when the Terran rode closer.

“What is the news on the lady Eimher?” he asked softly.

“She is well enough, my sister says. Exactly what she means by that I did not ask. It is women’s business. My mother will not let her leave the house. Lady Elizabeth and lady Mary have been visiting.”

“Oh? Good. But what does lady Fedhelm say about that?”

Redraic laughed. “She has had much to say, Angus. Man, you Terrans have caused trouble in Tolosa House. First it was miss Anne. My mother was not pleased at my attentions to her, few as they were. Then Tana, who has been quietly visiting your hospital at every opportunity, has become more outspoken, more willing to express an opinion, even if it meant an argument with my mother. That, my mother says, is the influence of the Terran women.”

Angus smiled. “I’m sure she’s right. By Fiann standards, Terran women are very outspoken. Though nurse Neima is no shrinking violet.”

“I’ve met her. Yes, a strong woman, but in a good cause. She set Tana on me for allowing miss Anne to set off to rescue the boy Laeg alone.” He laughed. “For which I was very grateful, and not just for miss Anne’s sake. But, yes, Tana worships lady Elizabeth and admires Anne. And my mother worries what that might lead to. Then Eimher comes, and after one visit by a Findian midwife, and one by lady Mary, which Tana fixed for when my mother was absent, Eimher, already well disposed towards Terrans after you rescued her, says she wants a Terran birth.”

“It can’t be easy for lady Fedhelm,” said Angus. “I’m sure she feels responsible for lady Eimher, not just because she is staying in her house and is the earl’s unofficial ward, but because the girl has no mother or even her sister here in Findias. Also, as a prominent Findian noblewoman, anything she does will set a precedent.”

“That’s exactly it, Angus. Everything you’ve just said. My mother has always been very understanding, too. So Tana - man, I never realised my sister could be so scheming - Tana, to win my mother round, arranges for her to see lady Elizabeth at the hospital, and visits the maternity ward. She chooses a day when lady Mary is out, with miss Anne, doing home calls, because, she told me later, lady Mary would be too much on a first visit.”

Angus smiled. “And Anne?”

“Aye, I was annoyed at that, but Tana told me I must fight my own battles. That, from my own sister!”

Angus laughed. “Once she’s won hers, perhaps she’ll help with yours. Though I expect your family have a dynastic marriage in mind for you. But that was rather clever of her. Mary has a heart of gold, but can be rather ... forceful. Elizabeth is a lady through and through, in bearing, manner, speech and thought. To a noble-born lady like your mother, she would come across well.”

“Oh, she did. My mother was bowled over. So now, while she still has reservations about the Terran Project, she has none about lady Elizabeth or the hospital. Though she is still worried about where Tana’s hero-worship might lead her. I myself am concerned. I doubt my father would approve.”

“Lady Tana would like to become a doctor like Elizabeth?”

“She’s not dared say as much, either to my mother or to lady Elizabeth, but she has said that she’d like to enter training with miss Anne. Her eyes would shine as she spoke of it. But now ...”

“Redraic, your sister would be a perfect candidate. Elizabeth would be delighted to train lady Tana. That’s what we hope to achieve: trained Fianns to take over when we leave.”

“Aye, well of course that’s the next problem, which seems to me a mountain we cannot climb. Your Project. Tell me, do you all have to leave? When the charlatan is booted out, do you all have to go? Lady Elizabeth, lady Mary?”

“Sorry, Redraic, but yes, we do. At this stage of development, everything is linked. Medicine, education, engineering, agriculture, industry; they must all march forward together. Engineering, education and industry underlie everything. You cannot have functioning hospitals without filtration plants for clean water, without sewers to free from the city from disease, without steel for instruments. You cannot have hospitals without Fianns educated in the sciences to staff them and to make the medicines. So at this stage of the Project it’s an all-or-nothing package.”

“Aye, that’s what my uncle said too. Also that even now the hospital is beginning to struggle.”

“It is. It’s coping, but normally by this stage some of its supplies would be from Findian industry. Instead they’re still using what was brought from Earth.” He looked at Redriac. “It’s not looking good, is it.”

“Angus, it’s like looking into a privy. By Belenos, I’d like to arrange an accident for someone.”

“Lord Redraic-”

“I know, I know. I won’t do anything. It just that ... mountain lions led by a scavenge wolf. How could Earth let this happen?” He raised his hand as the Terran started to speak. “You won’t discuss it, I know. Still, I must tell you: my uncle has all but decided. He’ll not leave the business to the last.”

“I thought he might not. I’m more sorry than I can say.”

“So are we all. This last week Tana has been in tears every night.”

“I know how she feels. I’ll miss everything. Our friendship, our winter rides, young Laeg, yes, but also Fianna itself, the incredible sights: the dawn on Algonim, sunset on Findias, the great herds migrating down the Telamon in autumn. I love this world of yours.” He swept his hand around, indicating the land before them.

Redriac’s duty to his friend was done. He’d let the topic die away now. “You have nothing like this on Earth?”

“Oh, we have the terrain, yes. Mountains and plains and seas, but it’s mostly tamed; made into parks for recreation. We have no huge herds of herbivores, few wild carnivores, nothing like the glorious range of fauna you have here. You have so much that we have lost.”

“So you could cross a plain like this and not be in any danger?”

“From animals, no. From the weather, the dangers would be the same as here.”

“Aye, well, we need no reminding as to that.” He turned to the men riding behind them, and called out, “Better than last time, eh, Barre?”

“Aye, lord, much. If last time had been any worse we wouldn’t be here today.”

“That’s as true as I’m sitting on my horse. And Ruadan, cheer up, man, you’re getting your cart back at last, eh?”

“I’ll cheer up once I see it, and see it sound, lord.”

“Pessimism is a poor trait in a travelling companion, man.”

“But a good trait in a headman, lord.”

Redraic laughed. “True, true. We’ll see it soon, eh, Angus?”

“Yes, only a mile or so to go.”

When they reached the cart, Redraic said, “There you are, man. Safe and sound, just like the earl said it would be. A winter under dry snow has done it no harm at all.” The cart stood as they had left it, the rear end on the ground, shafts in the air, lying at an angle because of the broken wheel. In the back a large snowdrift had collected.

“I hope so, lord,” muttered Ruadan. “I am responsible to the lady Chiomara for the condition of her cart. Another thaw, two days in the sun, and all the joints would start to open.”

“Aye but you are a one for looking on the black side. Fit the new wheel, man, and let’s away.”

While the men worked, Angus dismounted, and walked back towards the trees little way. Redraic followed him.

He was looking at the ground. “Look, those tracks again.” He pointed to hoof prints in the mud. “The traveller, whoever he was, that came through yesterday, he left the trail to look at the cart. He rode all round it, showing a lot of interest. I wonder why.”

“Could be any reason. Maybe he was a carpenter himself - or a potential cart thief.”

Angus shook his head. “Not with a noble’s horse. Look at the hoof prints. The horse is well shod, with a big stride, but not heavy. It is no commoner’s horse - unless he stole it. And the tracks we saw from here to Treveri showed that he took that at speed. Something he saw here made the rest of his journey to Findias urgent.”

“You deduce a lot from some muddy tracks, Angus.”

“I am an amateur. Your man Mende could tell us a lot more. Tracker Mende, can you tell us about the horse?”

“Aye, lord. Fourteen hands high, 20 to 25 stone, shoes have seen a lot of wear, recently. The rider was not a heavy man. The tracks showed the horse was at a fast canter on the trail, and was tiring greatly by the time it entered Treveri.”

“Thank you, tracker Mende. You see, Redraic. I am an amateur.”

“Aye, Angus. An amateur who can take a bit from here and a bit from there, and paint a likely picture. What are you thinking?”

Angus walked on, further from the cart, until they were alone. Then he said softly. “I’m thinking: Conchobar. If Eimher had told him of her condition, he might have ridden to Aedua as soon as the snows allowed, found she was not there and come on to Findias. He may or may not have known she was travelling by cart, but probably would have deduced that the cart had been abandoned in early winter, and that she may have been on it. So he rode to Findias as quickly as he could, to ask at the gates if she came through.”

“Could be, could be. He won’t find out anything at Treveri Gate, though. We were all wrapped up, and since then we’ve kept the whole matter quiet. Young idiot. All he had to do was wait. My uncle sent a messenger for him the day before yesterday. He’ll arrive there this afternoon, to find his journey has been wasted.”

“Where will Concobar go in Findias?”

“Aedua House? Friends? I don’t know. We’ll find him, though. He’ll stand out among the common people. So if he’s missing we’ll track him down in two or three days.”

“Good. And the marriage will be formalised, and everything will be as it should.”

“Aye, but for the gossip.”

Angus shrugged. “We can do nothing about that. But your uncle’s sanction is everything.”

The fitting job done, Laeg sprang onto the back of the cart and was shovelling away the snow when Barre called out, “Lord, men come,” and he pointed up the trail.

A group of riders was trotting down the trail. The leader was dressed in red. Ruadan shaded his eyes and stared at them. “It is my lord Turig, lord. If he sees me here, he will question me.”

“Go,” said Redraic, gesturing towards the woodland. “We will put him off.”

Ruadan tossed the traces to Barre, and hurried into the trees. Laeg leaped off the cart, and ran to stand beside Angus, a look of apprehension on his face.

Angus pressed his shoulder. “Don’t worry, lad. He cannot hurt you.”

Turig left the trail and galloped towards them. The remainder of the party followed at a canter.

“What’s this?” he shouted, as he reined his horse back on its haunches. “Who are you? I am looking for a woman and a manservant who came through here in early winter with a cart. If this is the cart, I think we need look no further. The Telamon will have done my work for me.” He turned to glare at one of the other riders.

It was the lady Chiomara, a child sitting on the saddle before her, She looked thinner than when he had seen her last, thinner and more drawn. A hand was raised to her mouth as she stared at the cart, wide-eyed. Her eyes left the cart, moved to Redraic and then to Angus. Out of the corner of his eye, Redraic saw Angus shake his head emphatically. The woman stared at him, but by this time Turig had turned back and, following Chiomara’s eyes, was glaring at the Terran.

“By the Morrigan, it’s the bloody Terran.” He clapped his hand to the hilt of his sword. “I can avenge the family honour here too.”

As he urged his horse around the cart towards the Terran, the wolf dog, crouching next to the wheel, growled.

The Fiann spurred his horse at the animal, but the wolf dog did not retreat, just growled deeper and longer, head forward, ears flat, hackles raised, baring yellow fangs. The Fiann’s horse reared and pranced away.

Swearing, Turig brought his horse under control, and drew a spear from a saddle quiver.

“I would not do that if I were you,” said Angus. “That animal is owned and if you harm it, you will be liable.”

“By the Morrigan, I shall leave that cur and kill another,” shouted Turig. He raised the spear and rode towards the Terran.

Redraic glared at him, and rested his hand on the pommel of his sword, and said, without taking his eyes from the big man, “Barre, Mende to arms.”

“Easy,” said Angus. “Lord Turig, you may find it difficult to explain the killing of a Terran to the earl, particularly when his nephew is a witness.”

“There’ll be no killing of Terrans,” growled Redraic.

Turig rammed his sword home. “There will be another time, Terran. And what are you doing with my cart, hey? Stealing it? I would believe anything of you.”

But here lady Chiomara spoke. “Your cart, lord? That cart belongs to Aedua. It is not the property of Rutena.” She turned to Redraic. “Lord, if you would be so kind as to have the cart taken to the stable yard for Aedua House in Findias, I would be very grateful. It is at the Quay Gate.”

Redraic bowed. “It will be my pleasure, lady.”

Turig glared at her with narrowed eyes, then turned to Redraic. “We also seek the boy Conchobar, who was visiting Aedua, but left yesterday, without my permission.”

Again Chiomara spoke. “Conchobar is not your ward, lord, and does not need your permission. If any permission is needed for my brother-in-law to leave Aedua, it is mine, not yours. Aedua, my lord, is not your holding.”

Turig’s brows contracted, and he said between clenched teeth, “Not yet, madam.” Then he turned and galloped off down the trail. The men-at-arms formed a half circle around Chiomara, and she followed, reluctantly, it seemed to Redraic.

They were more than halfway back to Findias, the cart rumbling slowly along behind them, when Angus said, “That comment that Turig made when he left. What did he mean by it?”

“Just bluster. Men like that do it all the time,” said Redraic.

“I wonder. How could he get hold of Aedua?”

“He could not, not without the sanction of my uncle and the council. And he already runs one holding badly. My uncle is unlikely to grant him another.”

“Does he know of the earl’s dissatisfaction?”

“He has received the first warning. He bowed and scraped, and did nothing. Men like that, they cannot believe that the earl is concerned about how they treat their peasants and their land. They believe that battle-service is all that is required, and pay lip-service to the rest.”

“So that implies that he does not believe that the earl would reject him as a holder. So, on that basis, how would he go about becoming holder of Aedua?”

“He could not. Chiomara holds in trust on behalf of her sons, eldest first, and next would be Conchobar, as Ortiagon’s brother, then his son, if he were to have one.”

“So, if Conchobar were out of the way, and Turig were to marry Lady Chiomara, he would be in effect holder of Aedua, excepting for the existence of two children.”

“I suppose so, but Conchobar is not out of the way, and Chiomara shows little willingness to marry him.”

Angus raised one hand and said, “Consider the circumstances. Ortiagon is dead, his sons four and two years old, his brother missing in Findias somewhere, with his hand-fast wife about to bear a child. If something were to happen to Conchobar and Eimher, and Turig were to be married to Chiomara, would not your uncle accept the situation?”

“No! The man is a bad holder, besides being a bully and a braggart.”

“And the council? Wouldn’t they say that it would be a neat solution, better than leaving a woman in charge of a holding?”

Redraic frowned. “Aye. Aye, they probably would. Old Rocban would never believe that a woman is capable of running a holding. A woman is a chattel, to go where her father dictates, to bear her husband’s children, to be seen and not heard. He would give her to Turig, and forget her. Many have like views.”

“So this is how Turig probably sees it. Get rid of Ortiagon’s close kin, marry Chiomara, and Aedua is his.”

“But he cannot get rid of Conchobar and Eimher. And my uncle will not let him marry Chiomara against her will.”

“The man is an opportunist, a schemer, and ruthless. Eimher is his kinswoman. She is pregnant and, as far as he is concerned, unmarried. He would see that as a blot on the family honour, and so justify a vengeful killing. Conchobar - well, where is Conchobar? We know now that he passed this way yesterday. I would hope that he saw that the cart had been abandoned, and the travellers with it had gone on. So he would be hoping that they survived, but with no proof. The gate guards at Findias will be able to tell him nothing. In the absence of definite information, he will go looking for her. He would think it likely that she is hiding somewhere, ashamed of her condition. So he could be anywhere, and Turig might know where to find him better than anyone. As for Chiomara, he may just trust to opportunity on that one. Her children - if he marries her, he will have many years to arrange ‘accidents’ for them.”

Redraic leant forward and looked at Angus earnestly. “You really think this possible?”

Angus spread his hands. “You know your people better than I. I have merely looked at the character of the man and judged his possible actions from his motives.”

“By the Morrigan, I think you may be right. If he thinks my uncle will allow the marriage, he may well strike against Conchobar and Eimher now. We will find the bastard and incarcerate him.”

Angus shook his head. “He has committed no crime, yet. All we can do is try to protect those whom we believe he will harm. Eimher is under your uncle’s protection, is she not?”

Redraic shook his head. “Not formally. Her condition being as it is, he felt it would be best to draw as little attention to her as possible. Formal protection is to be avoided, particularly if it is to be said that she is married. She would then be under the protection of her husband.”

“You think it would be prudent to advise him of what has happened, that a vengeful Turig is here, seeking her?”

“I think it would be, Angus, but I cannot do it. He is in seclusion and holding vigil in preparation for the Belthane challenge tomorrow.”

Angus frowned. “But she is safe with your sister in the family house?”

“Aye, she is. That fellow does not know she is there. Few do. All the servants at Tolosa House know is that a distant cousin is staying. Even if Turig finds out, he will hardly be rash enough to attempt to abduct her from Tolosa House. Our family is not noted for its tolerance of insults. But we do not rely on our reputation. We have armed doormen, as well as male retainers within. If he does attempt it, the doormen would raise the hue and cry. Help from the surrounding houses would come within a few minutes. And the swine would be banished the following day.”

“Good,” said Angus. “Though that of course would expose Eimher. But if he is unlikely to try a frontal attack, we must watch for underhand dealings. He will use that approach for Conchobar. So our first task is to find the boy.”

“The best way would be to start at the Gates and ask there, then check the stables. I shall go to the Treveri Gate, then on to Aedua House. You go to the Quay Gate, Angus. If I find a lead I will send word to Swirling Water tavern. If I find nothing I will join you. You know Swirling Water?”

Angus nodded. “I do. If I am not there, I will leave word of my whereabouts. If I find a lead I will send to Tolosa House.”

By the second watch in the afternoon, Redraic had all but given up. Conchobar had come through the Treveri Gate, stabled his horse, but then vanished. He was not at the family house. Redraic had spoken to Chiomara. She had already sent messages to houses where he might be staying, but no one had seen him. She was very worried. Turig was nowhere to be seen, and when Redraic had asked Chiomara about him, she had frowned and said she did not know where he was.

At this point a message arrived from Angus: the boy had been seen near the Quay Gate. He himself was going on to the nomads’ quarter, for Conchobar must have been going there.

The young idiot, thought Redraic. Did he not know that boys as well as maidens vanished there? Or perhaps he had been introduced to the place by his brother. Ortiagon had been a frequent visitor to the red lantern area, together with Turig. Neither saw it as a betrayal to Chiomara, wife to one, cousin to the other. But to think that a noble maiden like Eimher might have gone there? The boy must be out of his mind. He sent Barre to Tolosa House to gather some more men, and rode himself to join Angus.

He found the Terran had returned, and was sitting at a trestle table outside the Swirling Water tavern. He had a pot of ale in front of him and, elbows on the table, was speaking earnestly to two men.

As Redraic dismounted from his horse, one of the men got up, and hurried off. The other, white-haired and grey stubbled, got up and bowed.

“Ho, Redraic,” called Angus. “I know you have had no luck, for he has been seen here. He came through yesterday in the second afternoon watch, and went into the nomads’ quarter.”

“I have sent for more men. We can search the place house by house - or,” he looked around, “hovel by hovel.”

Angus shook his head. “That would take too long and would alienate everyone. No, I think a subtle approach is better. You may recall Goodman Becaltain, my young apprentice’s grandfather?”

Redraic nodded to the old man. “I do. Do you know where lord Conchobar is, goodman?”

Becaltain shook his head. “Not I, lord. But my late wife’s second cousin, he might be able to find out.”

“Was that the fellow I saw leaving as I arrived?”

Becaltain looked at Angus, and the Terran said, “It seems that Duamac does not habitually engage with the ... authorities of Findias. His world is in the shadows, the alleys, the back rooms of taverns, where men speak in whispers. Be that as it may, he has contacts in the underworld that may be able to supply the information that we need. So he has gone off to find out what he can. And we shall wait here.”

The third watch had just been changed when they heard a rumble at the gate, and saw Ruadan driving the cart across the cobbles. A stableman walked out to meet him, and he climbed down from the cart and spoke to the man. Then he put the reins in the stableman’s hand, patted the horse, and strode across the cobbles towards them.

“Any news on my lord Conchobar, lord?”

“No, man,” said Redraic, “nothing at all. But we have spies out and are awaiting news.”

“May I wait for that, lord? Then I will take news to lady Chiomara at Aedua House.”

“You realize that lord Turig will be staying Aedua House, headman Ruadan?” said Angus.

The man’s eyes widened. “I forgot that, lord. I cannot go then. He will demand to know where my lady Eimher is. But my lady Chiomara will be frantic with worry, lord.”

“Could we sent a message to one of the staff, perhaps a maid, who can speak to lady Chiomara privately?”

“I can send a message to the housekeeper, lord. She is loyal to my lady.”

“Good,” said Redraic. “No need to mention lady Eimher, I think, because Chiomara will have seen your headshake, Angus.”

“She saw it, but whether she understood it ... But yes, best not to risk it. The chance of Turig finding out may be small, but the consequences could be fatal.”

“That is as sure as winter snow on the Algonim, lord. And lord, you will wish to discuss private matters with my lord Redriac, so the goodman and I will sit elsewhere.”

It was approaching the end of the third watch when Redraic noticed three men crossing the cobbles from the Quay gate, coming towards them. The men behind were Fiann, big and broad, but the one in front was a short, plump Terran.

They stopped at the table, and the Terran said, “Angus, Charles wants to see you.”

Angus did not rise from his seat. “Does he now. Why?”

“You know that very well. You have broken your ban to stay out of Findias, as well as that banning you from speaking to Fianns. You are to come with me.”

Angus did not move. “How unfortunate. Every time Charles wants me, it turns out I’m doing something more important than listening to him telling me off. Though it’s not a high barrier to surmount. You’ll have to convey my apologies, Brian. Tell him I might drop in next time I’m round that way.”

“Angus-”

Redraic spoke. “Who is this puppy?”

“This is Brian, director of communications,” said Angus.

Redraic looked the Terran up and down. “One of the hyaena’s cubs, are you? Who are you to say what can and cannot be in a Fiann city?”

“Angus is a Terran, so is under the jurisdiction of the leader appointed by the Colonial Service. He is banned from coming into Findias, and from speaking to Findians.”

“Banned by a mouse who sent his wife out to face the Baian while he skulked in safety. Banned by a rat who then usurped power by lying to his masters back on Earth. And when challenged by his compatriots by honest and lawful means, used further lies and treachery to defeat them. And you, his lickspittle ‘communications’, propping him up by sending more lies to Earth.”

“These are matters of internal administration, sir, and of concern only to the Terrans. Angus should not be speaking to you about them.”

“You flatter yourself, brat. Angus has never deigned to speak of your master to me, let alone you. What I have said is common knowledge to everyone in Findias, that yours is the rule of a usurper, a liar, a coward and a cheat. And no concern of ours? When your master has misused everything given to him by the earl? Your fields lie overgrown with weeds, your livestock pens are empty, your firing ovens cold, your bricks and pipes unbaked, your whole Project mouldering into nothingness? Your lies stand bare to the world. Have you any grasp of how the Fiann despise you? We put up with you only because the earl so commands. But, puppy, not for much longer.”

The Terran stiffened. “The earl granted us a twelve month probation period, sir. That has two months to run.”

“You think so, do you? Your master has sat on his dunghill for over half a year and done nothing. Why would we let him sit there longer? He is a canker, his very presence is an insult to Findias.”

The Terran stared at him. Then he turned to Angus. “Sir, I have been sent to fetch you. If you do not come willingly, these men will make you.”

Redraic stood up, his hand on his sword hilt. He towered over the Terran. “Will they? I think not.”

The Terran stepped back. “Sir, by the earl’s laws, you are not allowed to bear arms in Findias.”

“I am a captain of the city guard, brat. I bear arms where I like.”

Angus stood also, saying, “Redriac, can we sort this out amicably? Ill-feeling towards Terrans is already widespread. Let’s not make it worse.”

Redriac scowled at him, then turned to the two Fiann men standing behind the Terran. They had already moved two paces back. “Well?” he said, glaring at them.

One of them spread his hands. “We were not told it was Ironrod, lord. We cannot lay hands on such a man.”

“Then be off with you.”

The men turned and hurried away.

“Brian, I think you should go,” said Angus.

“Yes,” said Redriac. “Be off with you too, boy. We men have business to attend to. Fiann business, of no concern to Terrans.”

“Just a moment, Brian. Redraic, a Terran cannot go unescorted through the nomads’ quarter now. At the very least he’ll get beaten up. Can your guard take him around to the Treveri Gate?”

“By Belenos, man, he comes to drag you away by force and now you are concerned for his well-being?”

“I am. As you were for a certain young lady a few months ago.”

Redraic smiled. “Ah, yes. But she was a beautiful maiden on an errand of mercy, helping the Fiann. This one is the opposite in every way. Still, if you say so, man. Come on, communications boy. I hope you can ride, for otherwise you will travel slung across the horse’s rump like a sack of corn. We have no litters for women like your master.”

He returned to find Duamac had come back. The young man half rose as Redraic approached, but Redraic gestured to him to sit and to continue.

“News, lord, but not good.” He glanced at Redriac, but spoke to Angus. “The young man came yesterday, asking about a maiden who was with child. Of course, all shunned him, for they could tell by his speech and dress that he was a lordling, and many are the maidservants who flee here to bear their master’s child in secret. The lordling spent last night in a house of the dragon dreamers, where a serving wench took pity on him and offered to help him. They went out to seek again at first light, and had returned there at noon, when a lord and his men arrived. The people of the house recognised him as Turig of Rutena, for he had been there many times before. The lord and lordling were huddled together for a while, and the wench says she heard loud and angry words. Then the lord left with his men, and the lordling went out with the wench again. She says they had gone but a little way when two men came out of an alley as they passed. She was thrust to one side, but the lordling was attacked and beaten, and carried off on a horse. She followed them, and says they went to the Red Sails Tavern, and had words with a party of Kelb traders, just leaving. This must have been happening, lord, while we were sitting here. The wench was frightened, lord, and dared not go too close, so she could not see what happened to the lordling. But the men returned into Findias without him, and the Kelb have gone, off down-river on the delta trail. She did not recognise the men, and a serving wench in an inn, lord, knows all the local men. That is all I have been known to find out, lord.”

“You have done well, very well,” said Angus.

“Aye, man, you have,” said Redraic. “If ever you need an advocate in the earl’s Court, ask for me.”

The man bowed. “I thank you, lord, though I hope never to be in that unfortunate position.”

Angus clapped him on the shoulder. “Ha, Duamac, we all hope never to be in that unfortunate position. But sometimes fortune does not smile on us. It has not smiled on the lordling this day. Now, how do we find the Kelb?”

The man stared at him. “Lord, you don’t. The Kelb are cousins to the Baian, less fanatical but no less savage. They are peaceable in Findias, for they wish to trade with us, but out there in the hills they acknowledge no master. No man visits the Kelb at their tents and returns alive. No one has ever rescued a man or woman once sold to them.”

“Well, I have to visit them. We cannot leave the lad in their hands.”

Duamac’s eyes widened. “You’re going to try to take the lordling back? You will need many warriors, lord.”

“I have perhaps ten men coming,” said Redraic, “but that will not be sufficient. We will have to wait while I gather more.”

Angus shook his head. “To take him back by force would be difficult, costly, and would have peace and trade implications. We could not do that without consulting your uncle. Besides, it will take too long. Let us see what talking will do.”

“Lord,” said Becaltain, “ they will slaughter you.”

“I know a little of the traditions of the Kelb, and I believe that they value honour as highly as the men of Findias, but in their own way. Anyway, we shall see.”

“If you’re going,” said Redraic, “I’m coming with you.”

Angus frowned at him. “Lord Redraic, involvement with Terrans has already cost the earl his son and elder nephew. I would hate to be the cause of the loss of his last remaining nephew.”

Redraic scowled back. “Ironmaster, this is a Fiann matter. If anything, it is you who should not be going.”

“You don’t think we should tell your uncle?”

Redraic drew himself up. “I am a captain of the City Guard, Ironmaster. This is a security matter – or very nearly. I deal with matters like this. Besides, my uncle is in seclusion.”

Angus smiled. “I would tell you it is dangerous, but you would take that as an incentive.”

“Naturally I would. Life has been too quiet in Findias recently. The last excitement was when you ran out of the Beinn nam Bodach with the Baian on your heels. And I missed that. The guard gets bored with only training exercises.”

Angus shook his head. “We cannot take the guard. A big escort would make it look as though we planned some sort of armed conflict. We cannot rescue Conchobar by force, so it is best to make it plain that we do not have that in mind. We may take two men only, no more. One at least must be a tracker. Do you still want to come?”

“Even more. I just hope you know what you are doing. But by Belenos,” and he clapped Angus on the shoulder, “it’ll be some adventure, to visit the Kelb in their own tents. I hope we live to tell the tale.”

“Lord,” said Ruadan. “I will come with you, if you permit. Lord Conchobar is from my lady’s holding, and it is right that I should go to his aid.”

Redraic looked at him. “For a fellow who was reluctant to trust a Terran to lead him out of a blizzard a few months ago, you seem remarkably ready to follow that same Terran into the jaws of the Kelb. You know their reputation?”

Ruadan bowed his head. “I do, lord, but also I know the reputation of lord Oenghus. More, I have experienced why he has that reputation.”

“Come then,” said Redraic, “if you are so eager to put your head in the lion’s mouth. I will send for Mende, to track for us.”

“Headman Ruadan,” said Angus, “when you send a message to lady Chiomara, just say that lord Redraic has received word of where lord Conchobar might be, and is seeking him there tomorrow. Anything further will just confuse and worry her more.”


	23. Honour believed and honour disbelieved

They left just after daybreak, Mende riding ahead, his eyes on the hoof prints left by the Kelb. The first few hours were slow, with Mende casting back and forth along and on both sides of the trail. Redraic fretted at the pace, muttering, “Seven devils, man, it can’t be that difficult. The bloody Kelb don’t shoe their horses, and we’ve only one party of Kelb through here this week, so following them should be easy enough.”

Angus shook his head. “You can’t hurry a craftsman. Mende is a hunter as well as a master tracker, and no one knows better the demands of speed in tracking. The Kelb prefer their own trails to yours, so odds on they’ll split off soon. Then the tracks will be faster to follow. But if we miss their turn off, we could waste hours. Better slow and sure, Redraic.”

The tracks followed the main trail down the floodplain. A hour beyond the turn-off to Fuill Rock and Gorias, the tracks turned west to enter a glen.

“You were right, man,” said Redraic. “I’d have saved us three hours by going straight to Beithar Glen, then cost us another four while we backtracked, looking for the trail. This is Colmar Glen.”

The tracks then branched again, southwest, entering the hills on a narrow path. The path wound through the hills, climbing ever higher. The sun was well past its zenith when Redraic took out his bow and began to string it, saying, “Someone is spying on us. It may be an ambush.”

Angus raised a hand. “We must go unarmed, Redraic. Our only hope of success is to approach making our peaceful intentions clear. If they want to kill us, they can. The Kelb survive by being vigilant. They know this and we know this. If you have seen a watcher, it means you were meant to see him. And that must mean we are close to their camp.”

“It goes against the grain to ride like a sacrificial chicken into their hands.” But he unstrung his bow, and put it back into the quiver.

“But we are not. That we are here, riding calmly and unarmed into their camp gains us face with them. They take pride in their reputation for ferocity, but also for their reputation for honour. In doing this, we are showing that we believe they place a higher value on honour than killing. They will feel obliged to live up to that belief.”

“Man, I hope the Kelb have read the same book that you have. I would feel happier with a sword in my hand and two hundred men at my back.”

They rounded a great boulder in the path and saw a cluster of black and grey tents a few hundred paces away. Immediately, Angus raised his hand and said, “We wait here until they acknowledge us.”

A few moments later they saw a group of horsemen galloping towards them. Angus stepped down from his horse, handed the reins to Ruadan and walked forward slowly.

He raised both hands, palms outward, as the horsemen approached. They reined in about ten paces in front of him, spread out into a line, every man with his hand on his scimitar hilt. The Terran stooped, picked up a handful of sand, and tossed it into the air.

“Greetings to the Kelb,” he said. “We come in peace. May the light of the sun be with you.”

The man in the centre, with a red turban and dressed in black, scowled and said, “Who are you and why do you approach the tents of trademaster Alaya?”

“We come to discuss a matter of trading,” said Angus.

The headman stared at them. “No man visits the Kelb, and you are not merchants. Yon,” and he flicked his eyes towards Redraic, “is a lord of the earl’s kin. You, by your speech, are a Terran. We kill Terrans.”

“Yes. And Terrans kill Baian and Baian kill Kelb. But only when the time is right. We have not come to trade blows, as you see, but words, to mutual advantage.”

“We are warriors. We trade in the marketplace for what we need. Here in our own country, we do not trade, we take what we want. Your lives are forfeit for walking in our land.”

“Bold words, boldly spoken. I trust trademaster Alaya will be happy to hear them when he and his clan are proscribed from trading at Findias for evermore.”

The headman leant back in the saddle. “Explain yourself, Terran.”

“Enough,” said Angus. “You are brave and loyal, bloodkinsman to the trademaster, but my words are for the trademaster’s ears. Go, tell him that Ironrod of Fuill Rock requests an audience.”

The headman stared at him, then turned to one of the men behind him and barked a command. The man rode forward.

He had only one eye, the other an empty socket covered by a flap of skin. His mouth and nose covered by a scarf but the exposed part of his face was covered in talon scars. It was the Baian warrior who had been attacked by Keldric’s falcon at Fuill Rock.

Angus kept quite still as the man rode slowly around him, half expecting a sword blow to the back of his head.

Then the man rode back to the headman and spoke one word.

The headman turned back to Angus. “So. Ironrod of three heads. Geilt Oenghus of the Bodachim. Anumcara to the Baian bandraoi.”

Angus nodded, once.

The headman spoke rapidly in Kelb patois the man next to him. The man raised his hand, turned and galloped off to the encampment. Then the headman turned to them and said, “Come.” Angus remounted and they started at a walk towards the tents.

Before they had gone far, the messenger returned at a gallop. He drew up next to the headman and spoke to him. The headman turned to them and said, “My uncle bids you welcome to his tents, and asks that you partake of chai.”

Redraic was not particularly fond of chai, and he liked it little better for having to drink three cups of it. But the old man was so grave and courteous that he dared not refuse. Angus drank, and complimented the old man on the quality of the tea, and drank again and commented on the teaglasses, and the tea caddy, a silver casket, and drank again, and commented on the majestic falcon which perched, hooded, on a wooden bar in one corner of the tent, then on the fine horses. The old man gave courteous nods and kicked his beads. The shadows grew longer. At the end of the third cup, the old man requested that they join him at his evening meal.

“Alas,” said Angus, “nothing would give us greater pleasure than to partake of the hospitality of the trade master, but it is a matter of honour which draws us here to trespass on his land and his courtesy, and that same matter of honour draws us back to Findias as soon as we have laid it in the sand before the trade master.”

“Ah, a matter of honour.” He clapped his hands twice, and immediately his family stood up and silently left, bowing their farewells. Soon only the trade master, his nephew and the foreigners were left.

“Matters of honour are not for ears that lack discretion or understanding of such things. But we know that honour is at the root of civilised behaviour. Tell me, geilt Oenghus, what is the matter of honour which brings you to the tents of the Kelb?”

Angus leant forward. “To our shame, a matter of dishonour, rather than honour. A lord sold his kinsman to your men at the Telamon Quay yesterday.”

The trademaster raised both hands. “His kinsman? Indeed, this is a matter of dishonour.” He looked at Redraic. “What is your uncle’s opinion on this?”

Redraic spread his hands. “He has not yet heard of it, trademaster Alaya, for he kneels at prayer, fasting and in seclusion, in preparation for his Challenge.”

The trademaster nodded approvingly. “He is geilt, the earl Ceofwrin. He would indeed be dishonoured by such behaviour in one of his barons.” He looked back at Angus. “It behoves us to lessen this. This is the youth my nephew brought in?”

“Yes, trademaster, I believe this is so.”

“Let us go and see.” His nephew leapt forward, and helped the old man to his feet. Then he led the way to an adjacent tent. There, sitting bound to a post, but conscious, was Conchobar. He was gagged, but his eyes opened wide and filled with hope at the sight of Redraic and Angus. Ruadan made to step forward, but Angus raised his hand to stop him.

Then he nodded. “Yes, that is the man or, as you see, youth, rather. He stands in the way of an inheritance his cousin hopes to acquire. It is an iniquitous affair.”

The old man glanced at Conchobar, then looked at Angus. “You are known to the Kelb as a man of courage, honour and wisdom, geilt Oenghus. I will thus put this youth into your hands, and the hands of this young Fiann nobleman, knowing that you will do right by him and by the earl. Be assured that we of the Kelb will take no offence if you return immediately to Findias. A deed done tardily is but half done.”

Angus gave a courteous nod. “We thank you for your graciousness, consideration and hospitality. I know that the master trader Alaya of the Kelb does this solely out of regard for the honour of the earl. Still, his nephew will acquaint him with your courtesy. May your greatfalcon stoop always on the plumpest of young pigeons.”

The old man smiled. “That would indeed be a blessing. Come. My nephew will take you by another way to the Findias trail, to shorten your journey.”

The city gates were long shut, and Redraic had to sound his horn for admission at Treveri Gate. Once inside, Angus said, “We should split up here. I will take Conchobar to the Terran Hospital, but someone should take the news to lady Chiomara.”

Ruadan said, “Lord, I cannot risk meeting lord Turig.”

Redraic shook his head. “I cannot go. I must go to Tolosa House to see that Eimher and Tana are all right. You take the news to her, Angus. Ruadan can take Conchobar to the Terran Hospital. Then you and I can meet at the hospital.”

“It would be much better if you went. She associates me with the death of her husband.”

“Man, not for much longer. She should be associating you with the rescue of her sister and her brother-in-law. You should tell her, Angus.”

“I will go to Aedua House and leave a message. She will be abed. It is good that it is the middle of the night.” He grinned wryly. “Maybe I can slip out later without Charles seeing me.”

It was two hours past midnight when Angus reached Aedua House. The curfew meant that only the watchmen were abroad. Angus had been challenged three times, but the watchword had got him by, though with suspicious looks. He tolled the bell and immediately a steward came out, carrying a pitch torch.

“You have news of lord Conchobar?” he said before Angus could speak.

“I have. He is safe in Findias. He is-”

The steward raised his hand and said, “My lady Chiomara awaits any news. Please come and tell her what you know.”

Angus shook his head. “She will not wish to see me. I am a Terran.”

“No matter. She wishes to hear any news first hand.”

“All right, then.” He pulled his hood around his face, and the man led him through the gates, up a flight of wide steps and ushered him into the hall. Chiomara was standing there, her auburn hair lit by the glow of candles in holders on the walls.

She took a step forward and said, “Yes? Lord Redraic sent you with news of lord Conchobar?”

Angus stayed back so that his face was in shadow. “Yes, madam. Lord Conchobar is now safe and in Findias. He is bruised and shaken, but otherwise all right, we believe.”

She closed her eyes and whispered, “Thank the gods.”

Then she peered at him, a frown creasing her brow. “By your speech you are a Terran. Have you come from Treveri, where that violent farrier lives? Is he responsible for my brother-in-law’s condition?”

His name was mud here. “No, madam. Lord Conchobar did not stop at Treveri. He came to Findias, to the nomads’ quarter, and it was from there that he was abducted. He was beaten, taken from the city to Telamon Quay and there sold to the Kelb.”

Her eyes widened and she clutched at her throat. “The Kelb! But… he has been rescued?”

“Yes, madam, he has been rescued. He is now safe in Findias.”

“But where is he? Why have you not brought him here?”

“He had undergone a traumatic experience, madam, and is in shock. He has been taken to the Terran hospital for treatment.”

“I see. And that is why you are here, a messenger from the hospital. Well, that will not do. I will fetch him from there and bring him here.”

He could not point the finger at Turig; she’d not believe it, coming from him. Let Redraic do it, at the hospital. Still, he must warn her. “Madam, that would be extremely unwise. His abductor is here in Findias and may seek him out. In the Terran hospital he will be far safer than in Aedua House. Besides, he has been badly beaten. He should stay under observation until the physicians are sure he has no further injuries. He will get no better treatment in Findias.”

Her face hardened. “Sir, after my experiences with the Terrans, I would not trust a dog, let alone one of my kinsfolk, to Terran care. And how can any Fiann be safer with violent and treacherous foreigners than with his own people?” She turned to her headman and said, “Go, ready two litters. I will go to the Terran hospital to fetch lord Conchobar.”

The man bowed and left the room.

He could do no good here. He bowed. “As you wish, madam. I bid you goodnight.”

“Stay, goodman.”

Goodman: Servant status. He turned back.

“You say that lord Conchobar was rescued from the Kelb. Clearly, Fiann lords must have been involved in such a undertaking, and I would like to know to whom I am beholden.”

No possibility that violent and treacherous Terrans might be involved. “Lord Redraic of Tolosa was there.”

“Yes, he sent me a message last night. He is a brave and valiant knight. And which others?”

“No others, lady.”

She stared at him. “How can that be? One Fiann lord with his retainers were able to rescue my brother-in-law from the Kelb? Is this whole story true? Is my brother-in-law really rescued?”

“Madam, it is true. Lord Conchobar has been rescued from the Kelb and is in the Terran hospital. He was not rescued by force of arms, lady, but by words.”

She looked at him, her eyes narrowed. “Words. To the Kelb, a race noted only for their horses, their falcons and their savagery. Were you there then, that you know so much about it?”

“I was, madam.”

“A Terran, going out to face the Kelb with lord Redraic? Who are you?”

He pushed back his hood and her eyes widened.

“You! Why? Why did you risk your life for a Fiann? A boy who is the brother of the man you-”

“Madam, it is late,” he interrupted. “Now is not the time and it is clear that you would doubt my words. It is better that you hear the tale from lord Redraic. He will be there, at the hospital.” He bowed and turned to go.

“Stay, sir. You have brought me this message and seem to have had a hand in this. I would recompense you for your time and effort.” She took a small leather pouch off the table and held out to him, her head held high, her face expressionless.

“You offer me money, madam?”

“I do. I do not wish to be under obligation to you … or any Terran. Besides, every Fiann knows that Terrans charge for their services.”

“Indeed we do, madam, and our charges are high. My charge for the service rendered is as follows: keep your kinsfolk from under my feet that I need not have the trouble of bringing them home again.” He bowed again, turned, and strode to the door.

“You refuse my payment? Can it be that I have offended you?”

“No, madam. Every Fiann knows that the Terrans are as thick-skinned as the plains boar.”

“Indeed, sir? Maybe you have had a bigger hand in this than I know. If you will not tell me, at least tell me where I may find you, should I discover that you have been of material help.”

He could not fault her politeness, but also could not doubt her intense dislike. And he was stiff and sore, and had been awake for too many hours. He turned and made a last bow. “You may ask at the Terran hospital, madam. Ask for Money Grabber. Lackhonour Money Grabber the violent and treacherous Terran. I wish you a good night.”


	24. The Terran hospital

Redraic was almost dropping from tiredness by the time he reached the Terran hospital. He rapped at the door, a central panel opened, and a Fiann woman’s voice said, “Yes, what is it?”

“I seek goba Oenghus.”

“At this hour of the night? This hospital is open for emergencies, not social calls. Come back at morning second watch and we may, may, I say, be able to help you.”

A woman’s voice called, “What is it, nurse?”

“Somebody looking for goba Oenghus, banmiddach.”

Footsteps approached the door. Redraic felt eyes appraising him.

A new voice, clearly that of a Terran woman, asked, “Who seeks goba Oenghus?”

“Redraic of Tolosa. Has Conchobar been brought in?”

There was a short pause, then the voice said, “Lord Conchobar is here, undergoing treatment. Angus is not.”

“He will be coming soon. He has gone to Aedua House. I wish to speak with him. May I come in and wait?”

Another short silence, then the panel closed and the door opened.

“Please come in.”

The woman stood aside as he did so, then closed the door and turned to face him. She was tall, and dressed in the Fiann manner, with an ankle length dark green skirt, a light blue blouse, and a white linen coat. She wore a white headscarf, and around her neck was some medical instrument. It was the stately woman from the Samhain procession. Anne’s mother, very clearly. She stood with her arms folded, looking at him for a few moments then said, “Angus has spoken of you. And so has my daughter.”

“Lady Elizabeth.”

“Dr Elizabeth. I am.” She stood looking at him with her brows slightly raised. She reminded him of the way his mother looked when she caught him coming in after a late-night escapade. Why, he wondered? Then, he thought, Anne. What have I done wrong there?

He bowed and said, “Lady Elizabeth, I had meant to come and see you, to ask your permission to see your daughter.”

“Did you? I expected that, and have been waiting. You have not come.”

Now he knew where Anne got her straight talking from. But here was no underlying sweetness. “Madam, I spoke to Angus Ironmaster and he said it was not the custom among Terrans.”

“It is not. But we are not on Earth. We are on Fianna. Fiann customs should be followed. Angus was mistaken.”

He bowed again. This is just like Anne, but with edges that cut. He was definitely in the dock. “I do apologise, madam. I take the blame.”

She nodded, unsmiling. “So you should. The reputation of a young woman is at stake. Have you treated her as you would expect a young man to treat your sister?”

This was serious. When Anne had stopped his forwardness, it had been with gentle sweetness. This was tempered steel. If he fenced this match badly, it would be the last he would see of Anne. “Madam, maid Anne has ensured that I behaved with strict propriety. Except for the first occasion, on which I assure you I was behaving with sole consideration for maid Anne’s protection, she has never been alone with me.”

“So I understand.” She gave him a smile and took his hands.“Thank you, lord Redraic, for your rescue of Anne that day. She told me what happened, and I am forever in your debt.”

By the Tuatha De Danann, would Anne mature like this, into a gracious queen? No wonder his uncle admired her, and his sister and mother had fallen under her spell. He reddened. “My lady, really, it was-” A loud rapping interrupted him.

The nurse went to the door and opened the panel. A Fiann man’s voice said, “Open this door!”

He saw the nurse’s back stiffen. “Who is it that comes at this time of the morning demanding entry?”

“Open the door, woman, or we will break it down.”

“I will not. If you try to break in, we shall summon the guard.”

The answer came as a heavy thud against the door, and the hinges creaked.

“Hold,” called Elizabeth. She hurried to the door, looked through the panel opening, and said, “Who are you and what you want?”

“Let us in, Terran witch. Let us in, or we will smash your door.”

“This hospital is here by the earl’s permission. If you attempt to enter by force, you are breaking the earl’s law.”

“We will not harm your hospital, Terran witch, but we will take lord Conchobar from your evil hands.”

“It is Turig’s men,” said Redraic. He sprang to the fire, lifted the poker and called out, “Ho, you devils, you have sold the man once. You’ll not do that again, by Belenos. Lady Elizabeth,” he said, stepping up to the door, “stand you back. We will let them in one at a time, and I will slaughter them. Ho,” he called out again, “come, you devils, hot steel awaits you.”

Elizabeth raised her hands. “Redraic, please. Let us first try to resolve this without violence. Nurse, fetch the horn.”

Then a woman’s voice outside said, “What is this? Tuac, I never ordered this. What are all you men doing here? Put down your staves, all of you, at once.”

“My lady, we were just-“

“Do as I say. And stand back, I will speak to the door ward.”

A moment later a pale face appeared at the panel, and she said, “May I come in?”

Redraic looked at Elizabeth, she nodded, and he said, “Aye, lady, you may, but your men must stay outside. Any man who tries to force entry will meet steel.”

“We intend no violence. My retainers will wait outside.”

Redraic, poker in one hand, opened the door with the other. When the woman passed him, he slammed the door shut and bolted it.

“Well, madam,” said Elizabeth, “what does this mean? Your men trying to force entry at this hour of the morning to abduct a youth lying sick and helpless?”

The woman turned. It was lady Chiomara. She looked at the Terran woman, trying to place her rank, thought Redraic. “I am Chiomara of Aedua. I apologise for the behaviour of the men-at-arms. They are my cousin Turig’s retainers. I have come for my brother-in-law Conchobar. My cousin’s men must have heard my words, and rode on ahead of my litter. They acted with an excess of zeal.”

“Indeed, they did, madam. They have terrorised my staff and disturbed my patients. Such behaviour, particularly at such an hour, is unacceptable.”

“Perhaps they object to Terrans in Findias. Many do.”

The Terran woman’s eyes narrowed. “We are here, madam, by the express permission of the earl, and the earl’s law rules in Findias. Men are not free to take violent action against those whom they may happen to dislike. That is a recipe for anarchy. Those who do not wish to be constrained by the earl’s law should betake themselves beyond the earl’s city and domains.”

“Are you then the earl’s spokeswoman?”

Elizabeth’s tone would have scored steel. “I am responsible for the safety and well-being of the Fianns in my care, madam. Likewise the earl is responsible for the safety and well-being of the citizens of his city, and that includes the Fianns in this hospital.”

“Well, I have come to relieve you with the responsibility of at least one of those.”

Elizabeth looked at her in silence for a few moments, then said, “Come then, and see your brother-in-law. Redraic, attend us, please.”

“Of course, my lady,” said Redraic, startled. Were he and she on amicable terms then? The pendulum had swung so wildly.

Chiomara turned, and noticed him for the first time. She dropped a slight curtsy, and said, “Lord Redraic, I have heard that you rescued Conchobar from the Kelb. I am very grateful to you.”

Redraic shook his head. “ Nay, lady. It was not I who rescued him, but-”

“Come,” said Elizabeth. “Let us first look at the patient, and then discuss his rescue.” She led the way out of the reception room, down a corridor and into a small room. Then she turned up three oil lamps in holders on the walls. Redraic followed them, but went no further than the doorway so that he could listen for any sounds of break-in by Turig’s men.

Conchobar was lying in a bed, in a deep sleep. He had a bandage around his head and his cheeks showed dark bruises. His breathing was deep and regular. Chiomara immediately crossed to the bedside and stood looking at him. Then she turned to Elizabeth, frowning.

“Why is he so quiet? In the wards in Goldsetters infirmary, the sick and wounded toss and turn, groaning. I have been there, I have seen them. What have you done to him? Where are the other patients, why is he all alone? Is he, is Conchobar dying, that he is so quiet?”

“He is not dying, madam. If he were, I would have told you. He is alone because I judge it conducive to healing that he have absolute quiet. We have wards as well as private rooms, though no groaning patients. That situation is not conducive to healing. Conchobar is quiet because he is sedated.”

Chiomara’s frown, which had lifted, returned. “What does sedated mean?”

“It means we have given him something, a medicine, to make him sleep. That is all. You can see that he has been badly beaten. The damage is not just physical but also psychological. He is in a state of shock. His mind needs to recover as well as his body. Both are best served by sleep.”

Chiomara stared at her for a few moments, then said, “This all sounds very well, but how do I know, how can I be sure …”

Elizabeth took Chiomara’s hand and put her fingers on Conchobar’s neck, just below his chin. “Can you feel that? That is his pulse, his heartbeat. You can feel that it is strong and regular. If you have any doubt, feel your own.” She took Chiomara’s other hand and guided it to her neck.

Chiomara held her hands in each place for a short time, then nodded.

“Also, look at his breathing. It is deep and regular. He is in peaceful sleep. Is it better that he should be like this, or tossing and turning and groaning?”

“Clearly, that he should be in peaceful sleep, provided he will be a whole man when he wakes up.”

“He will wake about midday. You are welcome to come again, and see and speak to him.”

“But how you know when he will wake?”

The Terran woman raised her eyebrows. “Do you think we give our patients unproven medicines? We know the effect of the sedative we have given him, because we have used it many times before. He will wake about midday, maybe a little before, maybe a little after.”

Chiomara looked at Conchobar, then around the room. Redraic followed her gaze. It rested on the white bandages, the spotless sheets, the austerity of the room. “It is all very different to what I imagined. The quiet, the cleanliness, the order ...”

Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, it is different to Goldsetters. Perhaps, lady Chiomara,” she gestured openly handed towards the door, “perhaps we can continue our conversation in the reception room. The more quiet the patient has, the quicker his recovery.”

Redraic stood back as they left the room, then followed them into the reception hall.

Chiomara turned to face the Terran woman. “You are lady Elizabeth?”

“Dr Elizabeth.” She glanced at Redraic. “This young man seems determined to ennoble me.”

Redraic shrugged and smiled. “It is how I think of you, my lady.”

“Dr Elizabeth, you believe that Conchobar will receive better treatment here than in the Fiann hospital in Goldsetters Lane?”

The Terran woman nodded. “I believe that Conchobar will do better here. I have no comment to make on the adequacy or otherwise of the treatment at Goldsetters. They do their best, I have no doubt, with the knowledge they have.”

“Indeed, I can see that conditions are more, far more…” Chiomara’s hands were twisted together so tightly that the knuckles were white. “Dr Elizabeth, if I had brought my husband here last autumn, rather than Goldsetters, would he ... would he still be alive?” She was gazing at the Terran woman intently.

Elizabeth reached out and took her hands. She led her to a chair and sat down next to her. “No one can be sure, my dear, of what might have been.” Her voice had changed. From sharp and brittle it had become soft, warm, reassuring. “The survival of your husband would have depended on four factors. First, the type of poison and its potency. We know that the Baian use both haemotoxins and neurotoxins. From the symptoms that were described to me, I believe that the poison used on your husband was a powerful neurotoxin. This is a poison that paralyses the body, and acts very quickly. Second, his survival would have depended on how much of the poison Angus would have been able to wash out. Third, the amount of time it would take to get the patient to hospital. Fourth, the treatment available at the hospital. I heard that your husband died shortly after being admitted to Goldsetters infirmary. If that is so, then it is likely the action of the poison was so far advanced that there is little that we would have been able to do even if you had brought him here. I am sure that Goldsetters did their best for him.”

“I see. Thank you, Dr Elizabeth.” After a moment’s further thought, she said, “Throwing ale into his face was the right thing to do, then?”

“Oh yes. If anything could have saved your husband’s life, that would have.”

Chiomara was silent. Then she turned to Redraic and said, “Lord Redraic, please tell me what has happened to my brother-in-law. He left Aedua at the end of the second nightwatch yesterday morning. From then until now I do not know what he has been doing or what has happened to him.”

Redraic folded his arms. “Much of this is surmise, but what we believe happened is as follows. Conchobar was riding down the Algonim trail to Findias, when he saw the cart, your cart. You know, of course, that lady Eimher and headman Ruadan were in the cart?” Chiomara nodded. Her face was drawn, as if she was holding back tears. “Well, he rode around the cart, saw it was abandoned. But he must have seen also that there were no bodies-”

Chiomara jerked and held up her hand, her face pale.

“You know that Eimher is here and safe, do you not, lady Chiomara?” said Elizabeth.

Chiomara stared at her for a moment, then closed her eyes. “No. No, I did not.” Her voice was a whisper. “I thought she had perished, she and my headman.”

“Both she and headman Ruadan were brought in by the earl and Redraic,” said Elizabeth.

“But, lady,” said Redraic, “did you not see Angus’s signal to you, up on the Telamon?”

“I saw, but did not know how to interpret such a signal from such a man. So she is alive. And she is safe. Thank the gods. That terrible snowstorm fell on us that day. Where is she?”

“At Tolosa House, with my sister, Tana.” He hesitated then said, “You know that …” he stopped and looked at lady Elizabeth.

“You know,” said the Terran woman, “that Eimher is pregnant?”

Chiomara covered her eyes with a hand for a moment. “I suspected, but hoped and prayed it was not so. But ... at least she is alive.”

“She did not confide in you?”

Chiomara spread her hands. “We were born at opposite ends of the family, I the eldest, she the youngest, by a dozen years. We scarcely knew each other. She was still a child when I married Ortiagon. Then the Baian sacked the family estate, and only she survived. She came to live with me only last year. And she saw,” she paused, looked down, and back up again at lady Elizabeth, “she saw how things were between my husband and me, and it may be that she was loth to add to my burden. But I wish, I wish she had told me.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Building trust takes time. No doubt she was scarred by the experience of the attack. She was frightened, desperate for safety. Then Conchobar came, offering love and security.” She looked at Chiomara and added, “In times of intense stress, we cling to those who can protect us. Cultural mores are pushed to one side. Her situation is not unusual.”

Chiomara shook her head. “Turig does not see it like that. When she fled, I guessed it must be that she was with child. Turig did not, merely ranting about her ungratefulness. But when Concohar came three days ago, riding the trail from Tolosa at the first possible opportunity, risking death, and demanded to know where she was, then left before dawn the next morning, Turig guessed too. And he ranted and raved, and swore he would avenge the dishonour to our family at the first opportunity. Men,” she shook her head. “They can go to the street of red lamps, stay half the night and no eyebrows are raised. But let there be but a rumour about a woman of the family and they are baying for her blood.”

“It is very chauvinistic. Men say it is for the protection of women, but some use it for the subjection of their womenfolk.”

Chiomara looked up quickly. “Oh, do you really think so?”

“Most certainly I do,” said Elizabeth. “But Eimher is under the earl’s protection. If Turig tries to harm her, he will meet the earl’s wrath.”

“Well,” said Chiomara, “at least she is alive. The earl brought her in, you said? I will thank him at our audience.”

“That will not be for some days, my lady,” said Redraic. “My uncle is in seclusion, and leaves tomorrow for the Challenge.”

Chiomara gave a wan smile. “That will give me a few days of grace, at any rate.”

Elizabeth looked at her, and Chiomara added, “Turig means to ask him to grant my hand to him in marriage. But,” she passed a hand over her brow, “let us deal with the problems one at a time. I am very grateful that my sister is alive.”

“Aye,” said Redraic, “and for that you must thank not my uncle, though she rode in with him, but Goba Oenghus.”

Chiomara stared at him. “What do you mean, lord? That man again, who threw the ale, the one who tends to horses?”

“Perhaps, madam,” said Elizabeth, steel again in her voice, “you should hear what that man has done for you and your family before you dismiss him as of no consequence.”


	25. Elizabeth straightens the record

Chiomara turned to Elizabeth sharply. “The goba has not been a man of no consequence to me and my family at all, madam. His actions have deprived my sons of their father.”

“Indeed?" said Elizabeth, her voice hard again. "And was it Angus who assaulted a defenceless Baian maiden while she was carrying out sacred rites? Was it Angus who put those cuts and bruises on her face and body? Was it Angus who tried to sell her as a slave? Was it Angus who raped her?”

Chiomara sprang up, her eyes blazing. “How dare you!”

“I dare, lady Chiomara, because it is the truth. All Findias knows what your husband’s actions were. Whether those actions were characteristic of the type of man he was, only you can say. All Angus did was to free the victim of those actions. She then responded according to her kind. Your husband would have known what her reaction to her violation was likely to be.”

“He would not have suffered from her reaction had that man not freed her!”

“Think what you are saying, lady Chiomara. Is it right that a man should be able to rape a woman with impunity?”

“That was _her_ accusation. How do you know it to be true? She might have been lying.”

“She took her own life - two times over, by poison and by blade. Whatever had happened to her, she judged that her life was not worth living. Do you think she was lying?”

Chiomara glared at the Terran woman, then dropped her eyes.

“Chiomara,” Elizabeth said softly, “do not let your grief blind you to the truth.” She turned to Redraic. “Please continue, Redraic.”

“Oh,” Redraic wrenched his mind from the scene before him. Lady Elizabeth was formidable. A tempered blade indeed, and razor-sharp. Formidable, but human. If he wished to court Anne, he would have to engage the human side. “Yes, last autumn. The day that Eimher disappeared, as you have said, lady Chiomara, brought a great snowstorm. I happened to be on the Telamon, with my uncle that day. In the late afternoon, we were riding back to Findias through the snow, when we heard her horn call. My uncle looked to ride out there, but his huntsteward was dead against it. Blizzard coming, he said, and he was right. We would have got there, but we would never have got back. Then Angus came, alone, down from Treveri, with this instrument called a compass. He was going into the Telamon alone.” He looked at Chiomara. “He didn’t know who was out there, just that somebody was, and that they needed help. A Terran, risking his life for a Fiann.”

The two women looked at him, but didn’t say anything, and he went on.

“I have hunted with Angus, walked with him, talked with him, eaten and drunk with him. I have listened to him discuss philosophy - which he does interminably, lady Elizabeth,” he said with a smile. Elizabeth nodded, but did not smile in return. Redraic went on, “I knew that if Angus said he could get back, he would get back. So - I trusted him, the earl trusted me, and his men trusted the earl. So, we went with Angus. We found the lady Eimher and your headman Ruadan. By the time we were halfway back, the snowfall had become a blizzard. We could see twenty paces, that was all, and the snow was knee deep. The cold was bitter, and getting worse. Of course, no tracker can track under a foot of snow, so we lost the way. Being a woman, you will not have experienced this, but in situations like this, where the weather is so hostile, so relentless, so battering, one sometimes loses the will to keep fighting.” He looked at Chiomara, but it was Elizabeth who answered.

“Indeed, young man, you may believe that women face such situations quite as often as men, except that their aggressors are not as transient as the weather. Men act, and it is done. Women endure, and it is never done.”

Chiomara looked at her and nodded her head slowly.

Redraic bowed. Dangerous ground again. But before he could reply, Elizabeth went on. “I do not mean to belittle the magnitude of your achievement, of the courage and fortitude needed to persevere, but do not imagine that those qualities are required only of men.” She made a small gesture with her hand. “We digress. Please continue with the tale, that lady Chiomara might know how her sister was rescued from the Telamon.”

Redraic bowed again. “It was Angus who had the courage and fortitude. The snowfall thickened until we could see no more than two paces ahead. We were all but blind, and just followed Angus. We trusted him, and he carried us. He led us to Treveri, following his compass. I must tell you, lady Chiomara, that without Angus, we would not have ventured out into the Telamon, for we knew that if we did, we would not return. We knew that by the morning, there would have been eight frozen bodies on the Telamon, not just two, and Findias would have been looking for a new earl. The journey across the plain, following Angus, was like being in Uffern, a place of eternal cold, despair and torment. But Angus led us true, through the blizzard and the deepening snow, strong and enduring, to Treveri and the Findias trail. It is to him, my lady, and not to any Fiann, that you owe the life of your sister.”

Chiomara was silent, her eyes on his face.

“And this other matter, the rescue of Conchobar. You may recall, my lady, Turig’s words and your response, when we met you on the Telamon. From that Angus deduced that Turig seeks control of Aedua, and further, after questioning me, that one of the obstacles in his path was Conchobar. He advised that we seek Conchobar without delay, and place him in safety. We sought him, I sought him, and could find no trace of him. But Angus had helped common people in the past, and they knew people who knew people who knew people, and the word went out. A man came to him in the Swirling Waters tavern at the Quay Gate, and told what they had heard and seen. Your cousin had found him in the nomads’ quarter, abducted him, beaten him and sold him to the Kelb.”

“My cousin Turig?” She stared at Redraic. “You are sure?”

“Beyond doubt, my lady. Conchobar went to a house of dragon dreaming, as it was a place your cousin had taken him to before. So when your cousin sought him there, the people of that house recognised him.”

“So that is what he meant. The Terran ... Angus Ironmaster, when he brought the message to me that my brother was safe, warned me not to take Conchobar from here. He said his abductor was still abroad in Findias.”

“Strange that he did not say who it was,” said Redraic.

She shook her head. “No, my lord, it was not strange.” She looked down and went on. “Before I realized who he was I had spoken of the ironmaster in ... insulting terms. He knew I would not believe him. He knew you would be here, and that you would tell me.” She looked up and said, “I wish I could say that my cousin is incapable of such an act. Unfortunately he has proved himself all too capable.”

Redraic nodded. “Aye, lady. Of his guilt there is no doubt. So Angus, a Terran, had been able to find out in Findias what I, a Findian, could not. And it was Angus who decided to go to the Kelb, and to go unarmed and defenceless, trusting to the traditions of the Kelb. It was he who persuaded them to give Conchobar into our hands. I went with him, aye, and so did your headman Ruadan, and my uncle’s tracker, but we were mere onlookers. It was Angus who knew the ways of the Kelb, it was Angus who spoke of honour and dishonour. But, in spite of what he says about the honour of the Kelb, I do not believe another man could have done this. It was Angus’s stature that they respected, that they honoured. For it was Angus who fought their Baian cousins like a beserker, who escaped from them, who climbed the Uabhal Mor without food or water, who descended the Staca Wall following a mountain lion, who passed through the Beinn nam Bodach unscathed. It was Angus who freed the Baian bandraoi as an act of honour - though she had been sent to kill him - so that she named him her anumcara. It was Angus the Kelb addressed as Geilt Oenghus, and it was to Angus they entrusted Conchobar, as a matter of honour.”

“And then there was the matter of the boy Laeg, at Samhain,” said Elizabeth, softly.

Chiomara looked at Elizabeth, then Redraic, then back to Elizabeth. “It seems that I have misjudged this man. But when he started by shooting an arrow at our wagon at Samhain, I took it that he was violent and dangerous …”

Redraic frowned. “Madam, I have seen Goba Oenghus many times in the past half year, and I have seen no sign of a violent nature. Courage, yes, honour, yes, astuteness, yes, but violence: never!”

Elizabeth said, “Angus spoke of that incident, but refused to defend himself. I have to say it sounded very uncharacteristic behaviour. Under what circumstances did he shoot the arrow?”

“My husband spoke of the Baian attack at Fuill Rock. He said,” she paused a moment, looked down, then went on, “he said that killing Terran women and children was the best thing that the Baian ever did.”

“I see,” said Elizabeth softly. “You have no way of knowing this, but in that attack, Angus lost his daughter to the Baian.”

Chiomara’s eyes widened. “His daughter? His own child?”

Elizabeth nodded. “It is worse than that. You may not know, lady Chiomara, that the Baian regard us as witches, but doubtless you know that the Baian torture witches to death.”

Chiomara’s face creased with anguish, “Oh, no. Did the Baian-”

But Elizabeth shook her head. “No, they did not torture her. To prevent that, Angus killed Jeannie himself. She was six years old.”

Chiomara covered her face with her hands. She sat silent for a few moments, then said softly, “His own daughter. I am … crushed with shame.”

“He has been a different man since that day. Though he knows in his mind that what he did was best, in his heart he feels enormous guilt. He has become sombre, isolated, and turns away from those who would comfort him. He was a ... joyous man, but the laughter has vanished. His sense of duty is as strong as ever - he still wishes to help the Fiann - but ambition, as many men have, and he had, to rise in the Terran Colonial Service, he has put aside as worthless. So when he was unjustly suspended from his post, he chose not to oppose that action. The injustice has continued, has worsened. Currently he is banned from Findias and banned from all contact with Fianns.”

“But he is in Findias, and he came to see me.”

“Yes. He came to try to help Conchobar, and then to tell you that the boy was safe. For that he risks being dismissed from the Colonial Service and repatriated to Earth.”

“Why? Why did he do this?”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “It is his nature to right wrongs, to help others, especially those who cannot help or defend themselves. That is why he is on Fianna.”


	26. Strife

That woman would never trust him, Angus thought. No matter what he did, he would always be ‘that violent Terran,’ the man who caused her husband’s death. Did it matter? Strangely, it did. He’d been impressed by her character as well as her person. She’d tried to protect the boy Laeg, she’d tried to keep her brutal husband and thuggish cousin from needless violence, both in Treveri and in the Samhain procession. It had certainly been she that had bandaged the Baian bandraoi after her husband had beaten her. She was ... intriguing. But he’d never see her again, so there was no point in thinking about her.

The scent of baking bread was drifting from the nearby courtyards as he walked up the hill. When he reached Tolosa House, he rapped at the door using the code Redraic had given him. A doorman opened the door, raised his eyebrows when he saw that it was a Terran waiting, but went to fetch lady Tana when asked.

As soon as Tana saw him, she ran forward. “Oh, I am so glad you have come. We don’t know what to do. My brother has come, but gone again, and now Eimher’s birth pangs have started, and we must get her to the hospital, but I don’t know how to get her there. My brother tells me that lord Turig is in Findias, and that he will have learnt she is alive and will be seeking her.”

“Can you not get a midwife here? Can she not give birth here?”

“No, there are complications, she must go to the hospital.”

“The Terran hospital?”

“Oh, yes, she would not go anywhere else. But how are we to get her there?”

“Have you not enough men for a litter?”

“Yes, but what if we are attacked by lord Turig?”

“How many men you have?”

“Only four, because the others stand as a guard of honour at the citadel while the earl spends the night in spiritual contemplation.”

“We should leave one here to guard the house. That will leave two to carry the litter, me to lead the way and one as rearguard. That will be enough. We are depending on unobtrusiveness and speed, not force of arms. It is but a thousand paces from here to the Terran hospital. Come, lady Tana, instruct your manservants, then go and make Eimher ready.”

The streets were very quiet when they set out, but Angus noticed movement in the shadows of the alleyway across the street. Turig’s spy, he was sure.

The cobbles were slippery and he could hear the clatter and thud of the litter bearers’ clogs as they hurried along behind him. Every now and then he turned to look back. He saw no sign that they were being followed, but he knew that somewhere in the shadows would be at least one of Turig’s men.

They entered Massalia Square. Two pitch torches, one on each side of the doorway to the hospital, lit up a few men standing next to a litter.

From the alley behind Angus came a cry, “Rutena, Rutena, stop them, seize them.” A band of men came running out and started to surround them. They were carrying staves and clubs.

“Unclean, unclean” Angus shouted. “Make way, make way, unclean, unclean.”

The men started backing away, but from another corner of the square came the clatter of hoofs on cobbles came and a shout, “Seize them, seize them!” The men surged forward.

“Unclean, unclean,” Angus shouted. “Make way! Leprosy, leprosy, make way!” But this time the men came on.

The litter bearers dropped the litter and drew their cudgels. They were barely ten paces from the hospital door.

“You break the earl’s peace,” Angus shouted as the men closed with them.

The door of the hospital burst open, and a tall figure charged out. “Hai, you devils. Fight, fight!”

“Redraic,” shouted Angus, “to me, to me. Your sister is here.”

“Hai, hai,” came the answering shout, and the Rutena men turned to stop him. The square rang with the sound of staff on staff and men’s shouts. A scream came from the litter, then a woman’s cry, “Help, help!”

The horseman, trying to drive in to reach the litter, yelled, “Eimher, you slut, you will not get away from me.”

“Turig,” Angus shouted, “Eimher has the earl’s protection. If you harm her, you will hang from the battlements. Away, man, away.” With a yell, the rider spurred his horse forward.

A moment later the hospital door opened again and a tall, slender figure stepped out, lifted one of the pitch torches from the holder, and hurried towards the litter. Angus could not see who the woman was, for she was cloaked and hooded, but he sprang forward and seized the pitch torch from her. As Turig drew level with the litter, he slashed at it with his sword. Eimher screamed again. Angus thrust the burning torch at Turig’s face and, when the rider jerked back, slapped it against the flank of the horse. The animal reared, neighing in pain and terror then, with a burning globule of pitch still stuck to its coat, turned and galloped away. Yelling, Turig wrenched at his mount’s head, but could not turn it.

Their master gone and with Redraic and the Tolosa men yelling and striking at them, the Rutena men drew back.

Angus sprang to the litter. Tana and the other woman were trying to help a groaning Eimher to her feet. Angus pushed between them, lifted Eimher in his arms, carried her to the hospital and inside.

Elizabeth, coming in behind him, called, “Put her down there,” pointing to a bedded trolley.

He did so, then turned to a Fiann nurse holding the horn for summoning the watch.

“Shall I-” she said, but he said, “No,” took it and ran out again.

Redraic and his men were standing at the bottom of the steps, Turig’s men in a semicircle but at a distance.

Angus stopped at the top of the steps “You Rutena men! Listen well now. This is the earl’s city and the earl’s law rules here. You are attempting to abduct a Fiann noblewoman, a ward of the earl. Bless your fortune that you have failed, for if you had succeeded, your heads would line the ramparts within two days. And what would you do if we let you past? Slaughter the newborn babe? Carry off the bleeding mother to her death? You are men-at-arms, warriors, not assassins, not murderers of the weak and innocent. You owe fealty to the earl, through your master. But your lord’s actions are against the earl’s wishes, as you must see. Think on that. Dawn comes. Go now or I shall summon the watch,” and held the horn up so they could see it.

They stood staring at him for a few moments, then one of them said, “Come, lads, away.” The men backed, then turned and started walking away.

“Anyone hurt?” said Redraic, looking at his men.

The men looked at each other, then one of them said, “No, lord. Just a few bruises.”

“Then stand guard at the door, and call if they return.”

As he turned to join Angus, the door behind them opened, and a voice said, “Angus, will you come upstairs to the office, please.” It was Charles.

Angus looked at him, then said, “Where were you while the Fianns were trying to protect your hospital?”

Charles scowled at him, but just repeated, “Upstairs, please.”

Angus turned to Redraic and said, “Thank you for your help. It was more than our director was capable of.”

“Eimher is the earl’s ward, and so a Tolosa responsibility,” said Redraic. “Man, my uncle will be pleased. We have them both here, safe and sound. But Angus, my uncle and the council are coming through Treveri later this morning, on the Challenge. Can we pick up some arrow points?”

Angus nodded. “I’ll be there. Beardog, scavenge wolf or plains boar?”

“I don’t know. Scavenge wolf, I should think.”

Angus nodded. “I’ll have them ready.”

From up the stairs, Charles said, “When you are quite ready, Angus.”

The reception room was empty when Redraic entered it, but he could hear voices down the corridor. Should he go down? He did not want to come upon Eimher giving birth. But his sister was down there somewhere, and a maiden should not witness such an event, either. He would have to go and find her. He walked quietly down the corridor. The voices were coming from the room next to Conchobar’s. He dared a quick peek through the doorway. It seemed they were all in there. Elizabeth, Chiomara, nurse Neima, a short woman dressed much as Elizabeth was, and - his heart gave a leap - Anne, all clustered around the bed in which presumably was Eimher. Tana stood behind them, looking a little lost.

From the bed came a heaving sobbing.

“You are quite safe now, Eimher “ said Elizabeth. “Redraic and Angus are at the door with armed men. Tana’s men are also here. Nobody can touch you now. Mary, I think there are too many of us.”

“Yes,” said the shorter Terran woman. “Perhaps lady Chiomara and nurse Neima should stay.”

As the others drew back, Eimher said in a tremulous voice, “I’m frightened.”

“It is perfectly natural to be frightened, Eimher dear,” said Mary, “but your sister is here, and nurse Neima has helped me with dozens of births. You’ll be all right, dear. You just concentrate on the breathing exercise we practised.”

Chiomara reached forward to take Eimher’s hand. “I’ll stay with you all the time, Eimi. I won’t go away.”

“Neima, was not lady Tana lady Eimher’s antenatal class partner?” said Elizabeth.

“Yes, doctor.”

“Then Tana should stay also.”

Tana stay for the birth! Not if he had any say in the matter, thought Redraic. But dare he contradict lady Elizabeth? Tana was looking both excited and apprehensive.

“Tana,” he whispered, and when she turned to look at him, he nodded his head towards the reception room so he could speak to her in private.

But before she could move, a man called, “Lord,” and Redraic hurried back up the corridor.

“Lord, lord Turig’s sergeant has returned. He says he has wounded men, and seeks help from the Terrans.”

“What! They attack us, then ask us for help? Go tell them to seek it in Rutena - or Uffern, for all I care.”

“No,” came a woman’s voice from behind him.

He turned, and Elizabeth said, “We are here to serve all Fiann.”

“But lady, these are enemies, men who have tried to harm you.”

She nodded. “I know that. But they are injured and are asking for help. Perhaps if we help them, they will not attack us again.”

“They would not attack you again if we hang them from the battlements either, and it would be a lot more sure.”

“A lot more sure, young man, but hardly conducive to what the Terrans are trying to achieve on Fianna. Come, let them in. Who represents them?”

Redraic went to the door, opened the panel, and called, “You! Who seeks help for these men?”

A man stepped forward, Redraic opened the door and let him in.

“Who are you?”

“I am Tuac, sergeant-at-arms to lord Turig of Rutena. Some of my men, lord, were wounded, and look like to die.”

“Wounded in attacking this hospital, man, and now you seek help from those you tried to harm?”

“Enough, Redraic.” Lady Elizabeth turned to the sergeant. “Do you swear on your mother’s grave that you do not mean to do us harm?”

“I swear it, my lady, and I swear it also on my brother’s life, for that is what is in danger now. He bleeds outside, my lady, and I do not know …”

“Bring him in. Bring them all in.”

The man opened the door and called. Then he turned, hesitated, then came up to Redraic, and said softly, “Lord, I only know of the Terrans what is rumoured and… Is it safe, lord? There will be no… witchcraft? My brother and my men will not be harmed, lord?”

“Man, the Terrans are men and women like you and me. Only a lot more learned, and wise in skills like this. They do not practise witchcraft. Here in this place, there is healing only. The Terrans do not deal in treachery, unlike your master.”

The man bowed his head. “Goba Oenghus spoke to us fairly, better than we deserved, and it was that that made me hope that the Terrans might help us.”

The men came in, two of them helping a younger man staggering between them. He had a wad of cloth pressed between his arm and his body. It was red and dripping.

“Put him there,” said lady Elizabeth, pointing to a trolley. “Redraic, where is Angus?”

“Director Charles called him to his office,” said Redraic.

“I’d forgotten he was here.”

“Aye, well, the director forgot to come down to help in the fighting, also.”

“Charles? I don’t think he knows one end of a sword from the other.”

“Neither does Angus,” said Redraic, “but that did not stop him. Nay, lady, he was using a staff, though his skill there also is abysmal. Not bad with a lighted torch, though.”

“If Charles saw that, and he must have, it means trouble for Angus. But let us deal with one problem at a time. Redraic, I will need nurse Rosaleen and my daughter, then please go and bring two bowls of hot water from the kitchen boiler room at the end of the corridor. And wash your hands and put on gloves also. I will need your help here.”

This might be a chaotic time for everyone, but if lady Elizabeth trusted him enough to ask his help, the Fates were smiling on him. By the time he returned, the men were all stripped to the waist. Two of them were on beds, and a Fiann nurse was cleaning wounds. A moment later, lady Elizabeth came in, looked around and said, “Redraic, I will need you to immobilise limbs while I stitch wounds. Hold this man’s arm, wrist and just below the shoulder.”

Tuac looked at the stitching and said, “It is well done, my lady.”

Elizabeth looked at him, and nodded. “We deal fairly with you, sergeant Tuac, and do what we can for your wounded. In return we expect you to deal fairly with us in the future.”

The sergeant looked troubled. “It is my lord Turig who decides what we do, my lady. He hates the Terrans, and Goba Oenghus in particular.”

“You should seek a new master. Or are you bound to Rutena?” said Redraic.

“I am a Rutena man, lord, born and bred. My wife and children are there. I am bound, and my fealty is to the lord of Rutena.”

“Will your lord return to attack us here?” said Elizabeth.

The sergeant looked at her, then down at the floor. “My lady, forgive us for that. I don’t think my master will return, my lady. Dawn is too close. I think he has gone to Aedua House.”

“Aedua House? That belongs to lady Chiomara, does it not?”

“Aye, my lady. Rutena does not have a house in Findias.”

“And is lady Chiomara aware that lord Turig has gone there? Go, Redraic, and tell her.”

Redraic was reluctant to enter the birthing room, but even from the corridor, he could see that a screen had been placed around the bed. Tana, he was pleased to see, was still just looking in.

“Lady Chiomara,” he called softly from the doorway. She looked up.

“Your cousin Turig was here, did you know?”

“I knew there has been conflict outside, but did not know he was invoved. I thought he had gone off to the …” she paused, and her nostrils flared and her lip curled, “to the quarter of the red lanterns.”

“He was here, my lady. Attacking your sister and my men. Angus drove him off with a flaming torch. Lady Elizabeth says you should know that he has gone to Aedua House. His sergeant has just told us.”

Chiomara sprang up. “I must go. Eimi, my love, I must leave you. I dare not trust Turig with my children.” She turned to Mary. “Dr Mary, I leave you with the most precious thing I have in this world, beyond my two boys. But I know you will do your best for her. Tana, my dear, I know it is unusual, but will you take my place and help Dr Mary?”

“Tana,” said Mary. “Yes, good, you can help. Are you squeamish, girl? Can you stand the sight of blood?”

“No. Yes. I mean-“ Tana stammered. She looked apprehensive and excited. Chiomara smiled at her, and hurried from the room.

“No, you’re not squeamish and yes, you can stand the sight of blood,” said Mary. “Lambing and foaling on the family estate?” Tana nodded emphatically. “Good. Go to Anne, and ask her to kit you out. Quickly now.”

“Tana,” said Redraic, “you may not do this. You are a noble maiden, it is not seemly.

Mary rounded on him. “You dare to interfere, young man? If you were my son, I would tear strips off you. Your sister is not a child. She can make her own decisions.”

“It is not proper,” said Redraic. “This is the business of married women.”

“The business of a brother,” said Mary sharply, “is to provide physical protection, not moral or social guidance. Your sister is an adult, young man. Confine yourself to your own business and do not interfere in hers.”

“Brother,” said Tana, “this is the business of all women. It is indeed proper that I should stay to give help and comfort to the friend that our uncle has entrusted to our care. Eimher needs me, and it is more proper that I should stay and help, than hide behind maidenly modesty and deny it - my duty is here.”

Well, when she put it like that… Just the sort of thing Anne would say.

“What is not proper, young man,” said Mary, “is that you should be in my birthing room. Kindly leave at once.”

Redraic backed out. These Terran woman - they were formidable. She had torn strips off him, son or not. But, he had to admit, she was right. And Tana was right too. It would indeed be wrong to deny Eimher help just because it might set some old women gossiping.

“Redraic.” It was lady Elizabeth’s voice. “You have some reservations about your sister helping at the birth?”

Uh oh, another strip tearing in sight, but this time more serious. If he acted the autocratic brother here, he’d throw away all the goodwill he’d earned this night. But he must be honest, for this woman could tell if he was not. “No, my lady, I think my sister is right. I feel it is not seemly for her to assist at a birth, but she sees it as a duty, and in this I think she is right.”

“So you’re letting her do it because you think she’s right?”

Seven devils, she wanted not only the right decision but the right motives. What would a Terran think? “My lady, maid Anne felt that the welfare and safety of the boy Laeg was more important than maidenly seemliness, and she was prepared to act according to her beliefs. My sister thinks in the same way. I think she is right, my lady, but in any event I must accept that it is her decision.” He held his breath: was this the right answer?

Elizabeth gave him a smile, and nodded. “Be so kind as to escort lady Chiomara to her home.”

He’d passed the test, seemingly. But he was still a brother. “I will escort lady Chiomara with pleasure. But my lady, I have to leave to attend the earl on the Challenge. My men will continue to guard the door, but can you arrange for my sister to be escorted home?”

Elizabeth nodded. “As we have relied on you, Redraic, so may you rely on us.”


	27. The axe falls

Charles gestured Angus to a seat, then retreated behind his desk himself. “Yesterday, you broke your banning order yet again. You entered Findias, you conversed with Fianns, you entered a drinking house, all in contravention of your banning order. You refused to accompany Brian, sent to bring you here to account for yourself. You then took it upon yourself to interfere with an established Fiann custom, in direct contravention of our Project charter.”

“So abduction and being sold into slavery is reduced to a ‘Fiann custom’ which must not be interfered with?”

“The earl allows slave dealing. If abduction is involved it is for the earl to deal with. But yet again, you interfere, and this time risking the heir to the earldom. If lord Redraic had been killed, what do you think the earl’s reaction would have been? Foolish Terran actions would have killed all his heirs.”

Angus shook his head. “Charles, there’s so much wrong with those statements I don’t know where to start. But it still boils down to what the earl thinks about my actions, not what you think.”

“No, it boils down to the fact that once again you have, recklessly and irresponsibly, contravened our charter - but, unbelievably, there was worse to come. Tonight you precipitated armed conflict here, not only breaking the charter rules as well as the earl’s laws, but endangering your fellow Project members. You clearly have no respect or regard for the Project, or your associates, or indeed the Colonial Service. Brawling in Findias at three o’clock in the morning. If I hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t have believed it, even of you.”

“You surprise me, Charles. I’d have thought you believed me capable of anything and everything.”

Charles leant forward. “I certainly believe you ready, willing and capable of destroying the Project in your efforts to discredit me. You were banned from meeting Findians, yet you have met the earl’s nephew many times, so much so that you have become his crony and collaborator. Not openly and honestly in Findias, but out there in the wild, where no one could see you. You have spent days with him, talking to him and, by lies, deceit and duplicity, done your best to undermine me with his uncle. I suspected, all along, that the earl’s intransigence was due to your poisonous whispering.”

“Ah! That’s what all this is about. You, your paranoia.”

“This is about you, Angus. This is about your actions, not your deceitfulness and treachery, but don’t for a moment believe I don’t know what’s going on. Your reckless actions have made your presence on Fianna untenable. I have sent in a report.”

“You mean that while I was out there, fighting to keep a gang of marauders out of the hospital, so saving your skin, you sat down to write a report to condemn me? I didn’t realise that people like you existed, Charles.”

“Our business, Angus, is to interact with the Fiann in a dignified way, on an intellectual level. It is not to enter a residential square in the small hours with a gang of ruffians and engage another gang of ruffians in battle right outside our hospital. Our hospital would not have needed saving if you had not started a riot.”

“Charles, a man out there wanted to kill a young pregnant woman. Would you have had me stand by and watch?”

“If you had stayed in Treveri where you belonged, you would not have been involved. You are interfering with Fiann customs - again.”

“And you’re indulging your petty vindictiveness again. If that’s all you called me in for, Charles ...”

“I called you in to tell you I’ve had enough. I have sent out an emergency signal to request an unscheduled stop of the supply and monitoring vessel for your repatriation. I’m just awaiting confirmation.”

“You looked out of the window, saw us fighting to defend the hospital, and decided this would be enough justification for repatriation. Hell, Charles, is there any depths to which you would not stoop to get rid of me?”

“Your actions have been so wild, so damaging that I have no choice but to get you off the planet.”

“And you’re doing this with no enquiry, no opportunity to put my case.”

“Nothing, nothing can justify such actions. Your behaviour has been too serious. In extreme cases such as this, I have the right to act unilaterally. There will be an enquiry on Earth, naturally. You can put your case there.”

“That won’t do me much good. They won’t send me back to Fianna once I am on Earth.”

“They would not send you back anyway. I have already send in several reports about you, your brawling at inns, your impetous actions, your interference with Fiann customs and traditions, your socialising with the dregs of Findias, your disregard of the Project rules, Project objectives, your insolence in meetings, and your blatant ignoring of my instructions. And now this latest incident: flagrant disregard of Fiann mores, resulting in armed conflict in which the hospital was involved.

“You’d just stand at your window and watch while an innocent girl, practically in labour, was dragged from her litter by her brother-in-law and murdered?”

“Over dramatising these events will do you no good. Do you seriously expect me to believe that a Fiann noble would do such a thing in the middle of Findias at any time, let alone at this hour of the morning. He knows the earl would have his head.”

“He would call it an honour killing, and hope to get away with it.”

“Then the validity of his justification would be decided by the earl. If not valid, he would pay the price for his action. Whatever the outcome, your wild and violent actions interfere with Fiann custom.”

“I don’t believe this. You are reducing the life of this girl and her baby to compliance or otherwise with a Fiann custom. We are talking about human lives, Charles.”

“Oh, it is pointless talking to you. You simply do not see the big picture.”

“Two lives, and you talk about ‘the big picture.’ Unfortunately, Charles, I do see the big picture. I see the picture of this Project returning to Earth in ignominy and failure due to your inept leadership. Hell,” Angus shook his head, “it’s unbelievable. You manipulated Heather and me to get the Fianna post, then pulled every string to turn your wife and stepdaughter’s deaths to your advantage. Finally, having plotted and cheated your way to the top, everything is laid out before you. A society with a strong, intelligent leader eager to embrace what Earth has to offer. All your ground work done by a Project leader recognised through-out the Colonial Service as top notch. Director Charles could claim success here when it was practically guaranteed anyway, and use it as a stepping stone to become Senator Charles. And what happens? You screw up. Your incompetence, your arrogance - how thick-skinned does a man have to be do not see that his own ambition is being thwarted by his own actions, his own personality? You think I’ve influenced the earl? I haven’t; you’ve done it all by yourself. This is not Earth, Charles. All your family wealth, all your political connections there don’t impress him. Neither is he interested in sales talk. You’re good at presentation, but he wants performance. He’s seen the best, under Agnes, and that is what he wants. But you can’t provide it. You’re too little, Charles. Your mind, your attitude, your methods.”

“Ah, now we get to it, the purpose of this long tirade, this venting of spleen, this outpouring of personal invective. And this is what you’ll tell them on Earth? Don’t waste your breath. I have documented every action of yours, from the sacrifice of your family on the altar of your ambition, to your brawling, to your involvement in Fiann faction politics, to your personal vendetta against a Fiann nobleman. Yes, I agree with you, I am good at presentation, and you can rest assured that that skill has been fully utilised in documenting the actions with which you have dragged the Terran reputation down on Fianna. And now this business of your treachery, that for months you have been meeting secretly with the earl’s nephew to undermine me and precipitate failure of the Project. Earth knows all about you already and I would be very surprised if they pay any attention to anything you had to say. So your threat is hollow. You are going back to Earth, like it or not. Once you are not here to corrupt the earl’s mind, everything will change.”

A beep came from the compad open on the desk next to him. Charles turned to look at the screen. “Good, approval has come through. _The Maltese Falcon_ is diverting and will be here in twenty-four hours.” He leaned across and hit a key. A sheet of paper slid out of the printer. Charles folded it and put it across the desk towards Angus. “Your repatriation order.”

Angus ignored it.

“Angus, take this order, return to Treveri, and remain there until pickup.”

Angus stood up. “I am, in effect, being dishonourably discharged with no right of appeal. You have done everything you can to destroy my career in the Colonial Service. This is constructive dismissal.”

Charles was saying, “You will – “ as Angus walked out.

He paused at the bottom of the stairs. Should he tell Elizabeth? He could hear the murmur of voices within the hospital. No, she would be busy. He would see her tomorrow on his way through to the shuttle, anyway.

But as he stood there, the door opened and Elizabeth came out. She stood looking at him and he said, “Yes, it’s happened. The ship arrives tomorrow.”

Her face tightened and went white. “No. No, this is too much. I’ll close the hospital. Then let him try to keep going!”

Angus stared at her, then reached out and hugged her. “You’re a woman in a million, Elizabeth. Thank you. But what about your patients?”

She sighed. “ I can’t, of course I can’t. I just wish ...”

“Besides, I strongly suspect that the earl is going curtail our twelve months probation period, and kick us out when he gets back from the Challenge. Don’t tell anyone; I don’t know for sure, but certain flags are up. So it’s all going to collapse in a week or so anyway. If you did shut down the hospital, it would give Charles the excuse to hang the Project failure around your neck. You alone have kept us afloat for six months and are totally unmuddied. Let’s keep it like that.”

“Angus-”

“It wouldn’t help me anyway. I’m thinking of ... not going.”

Elizabeth eyes widened. “Of refusing repatriation? How?”

“I haven’t worked it out yet, I’ve had only six hours sleep in the last two days. Maybe I’ll run away.”

“That’s very extreme, Angus. The rule banning settlement on a Project world is one of the inviolables of our terms of engagement with the Colonial Service. Attempting it is grounds for dismissal. I’m sure it would be a civil offence, and quite possibly a criminal offence. Your career would be ruined. Do you want to have that hanging over you?”

“This from the woman who wanted to unilaterally shut down Medicine on Fianna to support a friend?”

She gave a wry smile. “Touché, Angus.”

“For all practical purposes, Elizabeth, Charles has already dismissed me from the Colonial Service. An offense against Earth’s laws are relevant only on Earth. On Fianna, it has no meaning. They would have to find me to take me back to Earth to press charges.”

“But they would find you. You have your embedded identichip: they’ll just track you down.”

“The tracker has a range of only thirty miles. If I can get beyond that, I’ll be safe.”

“Angus, are you serious? Do you really want to spend the rest of your life here?”

“I do - but it will only be feasible if the earl will accept me. If he doesn’t I’ll have to go back to Earth.”

“Will he?”

“I don’t know. I get on well with him, but he has made it clear that I’m a Terran, and he does not wish to interfere in Terran affairs.”

“Angus, I must go, I have patients waiting. If you do go on the ship, please come and see us before you go.” She kissed his cheek, hugged him, and was gone.

The dawn wind was blowing as Angus rode up to Treveri. In mid-March it still had the ice of the Algonim in it. Just before he reached the turn off to the lodge, he turned to look at Findias.

Even as he watched, the sunlight touched the pinnacle of the citadel, and the shadows of the Staca Wall receded like a tide down the towers. Within minutes the city was bathed in a golden glow. The City of Light, though of course the reality was less ethereal. Yes, you had the grace and elegance of Marsallia Square, but also the poverty and squalidness of Dyers Yard. You had the dignified silence of the earl’s court, but also the cries of the market place, the bleating and squawking of livestock, the rap of hammer on anvil of the metal smiths and cobblers. You had the enticing smells of the bakery contrasted with the stink of the tannery. But all that was what made it a living city. And he loved it for that. Was he going to have to leave it? 

The next time he saw it might be the last time, as he rode down to the ship that was to carry him away from everything which meant anything to him.

He rode on through the trees. He had always enjoyed this ride, but now he looked around with greater hunger. He might never see these trees blossom in spring, never again see the green leaves of summer, the golden reds of autumn, the branches bowing with the weight of winter snow.

He was sitting outside the forge with Laeg, polishing the points when the earl’s party arrived. Laeg ran to open the palisade gate and the earl and Redraic rode in.

“Ho, cousin,” shouted Redraic as he looped the horses’ reins around the yard anvil, “how are you?” Behind him, several of the nobles scowled. “Have you recovered from the night’s escapades yet? I have had but a quarter watch sleep, and feel like a damp rag.”

Angus bowed. “Lord earl, lord Redraic, welcome to my smithy. I am tired, Redraic, but do well enough.”

“I have heard something of what you have been doing, Ironrod,” said the earl. “You have done Findias and me a service. You have kept your honour high, in spite of adversity. However, we must leave that unfinished business until I return to the city. Have you my points?”

“Aye, lord. This way, if you please.”

Inside the forge he tipped a few arrowheads from a leather bag on to a workbench.

“Ah, good.” The earl picked one up and examined it.

“The fletcher will be pleased, lord,” said Redraic. “He says Angus’s points are well balanced and easy to mount. They stay fast and the arrow flies true.”

“He tells me the same,” said the earl. “They are all the same, mastersmith?”

“Yes, lord. They are for hyaenodon, the scavenge wolf. Longer and with a smaller cross-section than for beardog, and with serrated edges. Smaller but heavier for the bigger animal, as they have to penetrate further to do the same damage.”

Redraic laughed and said, “Scientifically designed points, uncle.”

The earl nodded. “So I see. Small but deadly. Good. We may go east a little to hunt the plains boar.”

“The terminator pig, Angus, remember? The entelodont, you called him, the one you would bow to, for it is his plain, not yours.”

“Only too well. Lord, these are not the best points for the plains boar. Those brutes have evolved immensely thick skulls, for they fight each other in the mating season. For them you need these.” He opened a drawer in the apothecary chest and took out a long, narrow, conical arrowhead with shallow spiral fluting and small serrated ridges. “Maximum penetrating power.”

The earl took it and held it up to the light.

Redraic looked at it and whistled. “It looks lethal, Angus. But it won’t howl, will it?”

Angus smiled. “No, it’s not a howler and, yes, it is lethal. At ten paces and full draw, I think it might penetrate the city gates.”

“Hah, we’ll try it!”

“On a spare plank, nephew, not my gates,” said the earl. “Ironmaster, for now I will take ten of your plains boar points.”

“If you go to hunt those beasts, lord,” said Angus, “I would be happy for you to take my crossbows. Redraic knows of them.”

“He showed one to me. But I prefer the longbow myself.”

“Indeed, lord, it was not the hunt I was thinking of, but rather your camp. You may leave them loaded and tensioned for the night watch.”

“You’ll not need them, Angus?” said Redraic.

Angus gave an abrupt laugh. “Not where I am going. I am to be repatriated.”

“What! To Earth? Why? Because you came into Findias?”

“No, because I met you on the Telamon and spent days talking to you about Charles, destroying his reputation, so you could tell your uncle.”

“What? You never mentioned him, not once. Why would we want to talk about such a woman anyway? Besides, you refused to ever speak about your Project.”

The earl looked at him. “This is what director Charles says?”

“Yes, lord, but not what he justifies my repatriation on. He needed something more tangible and robust there. I am to be repatriated because I interfered with two of your customs and precipitated at riot in your city. The customs were the abduction and selling a kinsman into slavery, and the honour killing of a pregnant woman. The riot in Marsallia Square was caused by my interference in the honour killing.”

“This is what he accuses you of?”

“In effect, lord, yes. The ship arrives in orbit tomorrow and will put down a shuttle.”

“There will be a trial?”

“No, my lord. Charles’s word is accepted. I can appeal, but only on Earth, and they will never send me back no matter what they decide.”

“That’s outrageous!” said Redraic. “Lady Elizabeth came out, facing the swords and clubs, but that man, he hid away inside. He had not the guts to help defend his own hospital, his own people, and now he sends you away for doing what he should have done. Uncle, you cannot allow this!”

The earl shook his head. “This is Terran business. If Angus Ironmaster was Fiann, it will be another matter. But he is Terran and his master is the Colonial Service. Still, this I did not expect. It is a splitting point. I will say now, Angus Ironmaster, that it will not be long before the other Terrans join you. So you are going home just a little earlier than you would have anyway.”

“I do not regard Earth as home, my lord. I would rather stay on Fianna.”

The earl stared at him. “For ever?”

“Yes, my lord. For ever.”

“Ha!” cried Redraic. “I told you, uncle, he is more Fiann than Terran. Stay, stay with us, cousin! You’d be more than welcome.”

“It is not as simple as that, nephew. I must think on this, Ironrod. Come, Redraic. I can spare but two days for the Challenge.”

Angus bowed. “I wish you good hunting, my lord. Redraic, please take the crossbows, and all the bolts and points. Take all my hunting gear. Charles will just destroy them if he finds them here.”

He watched them ride away, Redraic gesticulating as he spoke to the earl. It sounded as though the earl might be amenable to him staying on Fianna. But ... two days? By the time the earl returned from the hunt, he’d be gone.


	28. A flight abandoned

Angus buckled the last saddlebag, slipped his left foot into the stirrup and swung up onto the horse. He looked down at the weeping boy and said, "I’m sorry, Laeg. This wasn’t what I intended. But Dr Elizabeth will see that you are apprenticed to a good man."

"I would rather come with you, master. I don't want to be apprenticed to a good man."

"No one can come with me, Laeg. I may not come back.” Only too true. Nocturnal predators hunted by smell, humans avoided them using sight. He’d be riding along game trails through wooded hills for seven hours in darkness. The chances of him providing dinner to a hyaenodon pack were much higher than those of him being picked up. It would provide a far neater solution for Charles too: no Angus to make waves on Earth.

“Go now, open the gate."

The boy wiped his nose on the back of his hand, then walked slowly to the gate. He threw the lever and stood there as the gate swung open, his face white against the gathering gloom of the forest behind him. The wolf dog Bran, now bigger than a ram, stood beside him, staring up at Angus.

Angus touched his heels to the flank of the horse and the animal walked forward, through the gates. "Goodbye, lad. Remember, don't go into Findias until Dr Elizabeth tells you that the lord of Rutena has gone.”

He had turned the horse up the trail when the dog growled. The boy called, "Master, someone comes."

Angus twisted in the saddle and stared down the trail. The sun had already set. Who could be travelling at this time? He was, but he was desperate.

Out of the gloom came a trotting greathorse, the traveller wrapped in a hooded cape. At the sight of Angus waiting, the rider reined the horse in, to a walk.

"If you seek Findias, traveller,” Angus called, “you are out of your way. The turning is two furlongs back down the trail."

"I do not seek Findias. I seek the Terrans of Treveri Lodge."

It was a woman's voice, the lilting, refined accent of a Fiann noblewoman. Her face was hidden in the shadow of her cowl. What was such a woman doing here at such an hour?

"The Terrans are no longer here, but in Findias, madam. Whatever you seek, you will not find it there."

"I believe that I shall. I seek the dwelling of Goba Oenghus, the Ironmaster.”

Angus stared at her. "You have found his dwelling, madam. Why do you seek him?” He pushed back his hood.

The woman leaned forward, peering at him. "You are Angus Ironmaster?"

"I am, madam. For what purpose can a lady be seeking a Terran ironsmith in this place and at this time?"

"I seek a refuge for the night, sir. I realize it must seem strange and unseemly, but there is no refuge for me in Findias."

Angus stared at her. Her face was indistinguishable within the shadow of her hood, her voice muffled by her scarf. "Refuge for the night, you may have. But if you are fleeing from the earl's justice, madam, I can offer no sanctuary."

The woman gave a laugh, but it was a laugh broken off with what sounded like a sob. "The earl's justice. Oh, that I might have that. No, I am not fleeing the earl's justice, sir. The earl is not in Findias. But maybe you will not be so ready to offer me refuge when you see who I am.” She pushed back the hood and Angus started.

"Lady Chiomara! You seek my aid?”

“I do, sir.” She spoke quietly and without inflection, just stating the fact.

“But I thought, lady Chiomara …" She raised her hand and he stopped.

"I have realised my error, sir. I now know what you have done for my family, and in spite of your parting words to me, I believe you will not turn me away."

"But why … no, let's get you inside first. Laeg, lad, go and build up the kitchen fire. Hang the kettle to boil.” The boy ran off, eager in his reprieve.

Angus turned to Chiomara and said, "Come, madam, this is no place to talk."

As he turned his horse to re-enter the palisade, Chiomara said, "I thank you, sir. But are you not on a journey yourself? Or have you just returned from one?"

"No, madam. I was about to embark on a journey, but it can be put off."

"Are you sure, sir? Surely any journey that would demand your departure at such an hour must be urgent?"

"You are perceptive, Lady Chiomara. But my journey is important only to me. No others depend on it, and I choose to put it off.” He led the way into the yard, dismounted, and threw the lever to close the gate. Then he turned to her. "Come, my lady, you must be cold, and it must have been a frightening experience to ride from Findias to Treveri at dusk. You know that predators roam these hills by night? To ride alone is very dangerous."

"To remain in Findias was more so. And I was not entirely alone, sir," she said, and opened her cape. In front of her sat two small children, looking at Angus with wide eyes.

He stared at them, then frowned at her and said, "By the gods of the Fianns, madam, you must be desperate to endanger your children on such a journey. And to bring them here, away from your own people, to some unknown Terran."

"Indeed, sir, I am desperate. Desperate for my children as well as myself,” she said softly. "But I do not risk my children to the chance of hospitality of some unknown Terran, but to the generous spirit and compassion of the man known as Ironrod.” She met his gaze with slightly raised eyebrows, dark on the whiteness of her face.

This is a different tune to the one he’d heard less than a day ago. Why the change? But he looked at the children and smiled. "Well, madam, with these children, I would have offered you refuge had you murdered the earl himself. Come, little ones, let’s get you down and go inside."

"If you would be so kind, sir," said Chiomara, and she held out her hand. He took it, and helped her off the horse. Standing, she was almost as tall as he was. She thanked him and lifted her children down. They stood slightly behind her, holding onto her gown, gazing up at the Terran. "Niall and Cormac," she said with a smile, placing a hand on the head of each.

Angus squatted down so that he was on a level with the children. "I am pleased to meet you, Niall and Cormac. My name is Oenghus. Let's go inside where it is nice and warm, and safe, and have some supper."

He stood erect and gestured open handed at the cottage. "Please enter, lady. We will have to fend for ourselves. Sanma , my maid, is old and retires with the sun. I have no wife to receive you."

She gave a courteous nod and said, "I know that, sir."

"You know that, lady Chiomara?"

"Indeed, sir, I do. I know that you were estranged from your wife, that she was … killed in the Baian attack at the Rock of Fuill some eight months ago. I know that you lost your daughter in the most tragic circumstances in that same attack.” She looked at him compassionately, but went on quickly. “I know that you are famed for courage, endurance and a generous spirit. For good iron and steel but not sword play. For – pardon me – a short temper, but that your word is your bond. I know that you live here alone, with just those to whom you have given sanctuary and protection, the apprentice boy and the old serving maid. But I can slice vegetables and broil venison as well as the next woman."

"Very well, lady. I will show you where the food and utensils are, then go and help Laeg with the horses."


	29. Chiomara's tale

"Sir, I would like to tell you how I come to trespass on your goodwill."

They had eaten. Sanma, hearing voices, had risen and joined them, helping Chiomara prepare the meal. To Angus’s surprise, Chiomara had proved competent in the kitchen, but then he recalled that noble-born women learned how to run a household by doing household tasks when they were girls. Sanma was now fussing over the children in the kitchen. Laeg, although elated at Angus’s cancelled journey, was ill at ease in the presence of a noblewoman and had gone to the stables. Angus had returned to the living room, and was kneeling on the hearth, building up the fire. Bran lay to one side, dozing. Chiomara had followed, closing the door behind her.

Angus looked up. "Only if you wish to, lady Chiomara. I accept your need is desperate. You need not tell me more."

"Sir, I thank you for your trust. Still, I feel I owe it to you. You have done much for my family, more than I can ever repay."

"I do not understand, lady Chiomara. Yesterday ..."

She raised her hand. "Sir, forgive me. Yesterday I was both blinded and ignorant. Blinded by my prejudices and ignorant of the truth. The truth of your virtue and your deeds. The truth that you had ventured out into the snowy wastes of the Telamon to find and bring home my sister, that you had dared the scimitars and perfidy of the Kelb to deliver my brother from bondage. That, in short, you had ventured where no man of Findias had ever ventured, and by your courage, steadfastness, intelligence and wit, had rescued those dear to me from death and slavery against impossible odds.” She put her hand to her throat.

"Madam, whoever has told you these stories has greatly exaggerated my part in them."

She raised her eyebrows. "Indeed, sir? While lord Redraic may tend to put a young man’s romantic gloss on a tale, I think I can separate the wheat from the chaff. Besides, the bare bones speak for themselves. Did you not lead the earl's party into the Telamon in a blizzard to find my sister? And did you not go with lord Redraic and two servingmen to the tents of the Kelb to retrieve my brother?"

Angus shrugged. "I had a compass, an instrument which shows the direction, in the Telamon, and the blizzard only struck us on the return journey. And as for the Kelb, it was merely a matter of knowing their customs. We were not at risk."

"And yet the men of Findias, who have known the Kelb and their customs all their lives, never venture into the high glens to their tents, fearing their reputation for savagery and treachery. And my sister tells me, instrument or not, that such was the violence of the blizzard she had given up all hope of survival, and that all, including the earl and his trackers, owed their lives to your steadfast leadership. And I have not even mentioned yet that you tried to save my ... worthless husband from the consequences of his vile deeds, and that you brought my sister, practically in childbirth, to the Terran clinic, and drove off my murderous cousin and his men.” She stopped, breathing heavily. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears.

"Lady-"

Chiomara raised her hand. "Sir, the Baian and the Kelb call you geilt and anumcara, the earl calls you Ironrod and nemed. Not a one of them bestows such titles lightly. It is enough for me."

Angus bowed his head and was silent.

"So, sir, I am greatly indebted to you, and I would like to tell you why I am here."

"I would be honoured to receive any confidences the lady Chiomara cares to bestow on me."

She stared into the fire for a few moments. The soft light of the flames reflected off her fine red hair, and threw into relief her delicate features, the high cheekbones, narrow nose, square ended chin. Her eyes looked as through they were used to laughing, but there was no laughter in her face or voice as she began. On one cheek there was a bruise. Turig?

"I do not know how much of my history, if any, you may have picked up in your dealings with my family."

"Very little, lady Chiomara.” Steering clear of sensitive subjects like her late husband seemed prudent.

Chiomara obviously thought so too, for she said, "Well, little need be said other than that relating to my present predicament. You know what has happened already, what my cousin Turig has attempted to do to my sister and my brother-in-law, which you have thwarted. Ever since the death of my husband, Turig has wished to take me to wife, claiming it is his right. As you have seen, he is a violent and impatient man. Had I refused him outright, he would have cast away restraint. So I prevaricated, taking refuge in pleading for a decent period of mourning, and seeking the earl's consent. I also have loyal retainers in Aedua. Though there is little they could have done to stop him should he have become determined, still their presence there was a restraint. However, in spite of the coarseness of his sensitivities, he has realised my unwillingness, and only his fear of the earl has held him back. We have thus come to Findias to seek the earl 's judgment. But the earl is away, and Turig feels that, having showing willing by coming to Findias, he need wait no longer. He thus intended to force me to marry him before the earl returns. He has arranged the marriage ceremony for the morrow."

She sighed. "You have seen him. For all that he is my cousin, I cannot defend him, nor wish to. He is a hard man: callous, selfish and brutal." She raised a hand to her bruised cheek. "He has no love for me or my children, and seeks only the control of Aedua. Rather than marry him, I would risk death for us all. So I had no choice but to flee tonight. Tomorrow I must find the earl. He is somewhere on the Plain of Telamon."

Angus looked at her. "You are a brave woman."

She smiled. "Not brave, merely desperate."

He shook his head slowly. "You have resisted. Day by day, step by step. Some would accept their fate."

Her eyes flashed. "And have my children brought up by that man? Never!"

She was beautiful when she was angry. He pushed the thought away. She was a Fiann aristocrat, he a Terran. Her attitude might have changed so that she valued his help, but the thought of any sort of a relationship would repel her. Get away from the emotion, deal with the practicalities. "Finding the earl might not be too difficult. I understand from Redraic that they planned to camp a few leagues up the Algonim trail."

"Oh? That is wonderful news. My greatest fear was searching that vast plain alone, not knowing where to look. I shall ride there tomorrow."

" _We_ shall ride there tomorrow, madam. I cannot allow you to go alone."

"But sir, are you not in enough trouble because of me and my family? I heard today that because you were in Findias and involved in the contention outside the Terran hospital, you had been dishonourably discharged from the Colonial Service, and were to be sent home. And it had not been for Conchobar and Eimher, you would not have been there."

"That, madam, is between me and the Colonial Service. I chose to be in Findias. Neither you nor any member of your family compelled me to be there."

"But sir-"

From the kitchen came a clatter and the door was flung open.


	30. The family at the fireside

As the two children ran into the room, Angus said, "Come, madam, we have the children to attend to.”

Naill ran up to her. "Mama, mama, I ate all my vegetables and so did Cormy ... almost all. Do we have to go to bed right now? Uncle Turig is not here. Do we have to?"

“No, he is not, he is far away.” Then she looked at Angus and said, "But I don't think we want to disturb the ironmaster ..."

"Madam, this disturbance is the sort I welcome,” Angus said. “This house has not heard a child's voice for too many months.”

“If you are sure, sir.”

“I am very sure, madam.” He squatted down in front of Niall. "I didn’t like vegetables when I was little, too. But my mama wanted me to eat them, so I did. Uh ... usually.” He glanced up at Chiomara. She was smiling.

Five year old Niall was not interested in subtleties. "Oh, look!” He pointed to the wolf dog. "Can we stroke him?"

"Of course," said Angus. “His name is Bran.”

Niall ran forward, knelt next to the wolf dog and tentatively held out his hand. Bran lifted his head, sniffed the hand, then licked it.

"Oh, he likes me, Bran likes me," said Niall, and began stroking him. Cormac toddled over, sat down with a thump, and also began to stroke the wolf dog. Bran nuzzled him and Cormac gurgled with laughter.

“Your boys are brave, madam. Bran frightens some children. His appearance is against him.”

Bran yawned, showing a cavernous mouth and long canines.

Chiomara watched worriedly. "Is the ... creature quite safe, sir?"

"Oh yes, he’s been among children all his life. Boys and dogs are natural companions.” Then, seeing her still apprehensive, he said, "But perhaps it's time for Bran to go out into the yard. Come on, boy."

He opened the door and said, “Seek. Laeg. Seek, seek, Laeg.” The dog bounded out and Angus said, “My apprentice and I have been training him. He’s responding well.”

"But now he’s gone!” said Niall. “Mama, that was your fault. Why did you say that? He was such a nice dog and now he is gone and it’s your fault.”

Chiomara gave Angus a rueful smile and said, “Well, maybe it was Bran’s bedtime. It is certainly your bedtime.”

“You said we don’t have to, mama. I don’t want to go to bed.”

“Don’t want go bed,” echoed Cormac.

“But …” she looked at Angus.

“Madam, I was not just being polite. I am more than happy to spend time with the boys, really. Some play would benefit them, I’m sure, and certainly me. May we?”

She smiled and nodded.

Angus squatted down and said, “I’ll show you what I sometimes do in the evenings, and you can tell me if you would like to try it.” He brought out a basket of wooden blocks, sat down on the hearth and began to build a castle. The boys watched him, silent at first, until a tower toppled over. Then, to peels of childish laughter, Angus said, "Oh dear, I'm no good at this. Niall, you take those blocks, and show me how to build a tower, and Cormac, you can help me get it right."

Within minutes blocks were scattered over the rug and the children were totally engrossed in their play, Niall building towers five blocks high, and Angus gently prodding Cormac’s blocks back into balance. Chiomara sat down on the rug on the other side of the children, her long skirt splayed around her.

What a picture of domesticity, Angus thought. Man, woman and two children. This would have been his future if he’d cared for his family as he should have done. Too late now. This woman was a clearly devoted mother and, from all he had seen, was perceptive, sensitive and intelligent. She would make a good wife, but to a Fiann noble.

He played with them for an hour or more, helping them build towers and castles, bridges and roads, laughing with them as the structures toppled.

Chiomara did not take part, but sat watching, her face in shadow. Once or twice she joined in her children's laughter as a tower collapsed. She had a silvery laugh, he thought. Once her hand brushed his as she passed a runaway block back to one of her children. More than once he caught himself fantasizing about sitting there as man and wife, and each time he pushed the thought away. The idea would repel her.

When the children grew tired of castles, he brought out of box of animals he had carved after Jeannie had gone, in the long, lonely nights.

The children had reached in and taken one each, and were pushing them along the floor when Chiomara had picked one up. She looked at it and said, “Sir, this is a display piece. It is too fine to be a child’s toy. They will get damaged.”

“I made them for my daughter, madam. They should be used by children.”

“But,” and she looked again, “they show no sign of use. Even by a little girl.”

“No.” He couldn’t wriggle out of this. “I carved them after Jeannie’s ... death.”

Chiomara was silent for a few moments, then said, “Then they are soul work. I am sorry, sir, but these little ones are too young to understand. I cannot let my children damage these,” and she took them gently out of their hands and replaced them in the box.

“But, mama-” began Niall, and Angus said, “Let’s look at the blocks, boys. They have pictures on them, did you see?”

On some of them, he had carved and painted small trees and flowers, on others, small animals. He began arranging them in patterns. He had just arranged a circle of trees with flowers and a mouse inside it when the eldest boy said, “You have made a bower.” He turned to his mother. "Do you remember, mama?” He began to sing: "I will build my love a bower near yon pure crystal fountain…"

Smiling, Chiomara added her voice to the childish chant, "And on it I will pile all the flowers of the mountain…"

As Angus joined in softly, "Will ye go, lassie, go,” she turned a startled face towards him, but dropped her gaze at the line “And we’ll all go together.”

When they had finished, she said, "Did you learn the song here, sir?"

"No, lady Chiomara. I learnt it on Earth. We share a common cultural heritage, albeit an ancient one, and this song is part of that.” She looked keenly at him, and nodded slowly.

Maybe she did not just regard him as a convenient stopover point. No, he thought, forget it. She's a noblewoman, you’re a Terran and a manual worker. That is how she must see you.

He turned to the children and said, "How about a story now? Would you like a story?” The children stared at him blankly, and Chiomara said, "They do not understand what you mean, sir. You mean a saga, such as the bards recite?"

"Like that, yes, but for children. Not tales of knights and ladies, or of epic battles, but of rabbits and field mice."

"What are rabbits?"

He smiled and said, "No rabbits on Fianna. Count your blessings, madam. No, I mean tales of small furry animals, which children can relate to."

"Are you then a bard as well, sir?"

"Nay, lady. I did not compose these. The bards who composed the stories wrote them down, and copies were made, so that anyone who can read can relate the tales to others. Children love them, for they carry a child into another world, the world of imagination."

As he got up to select a book, she said, "I can see that you love children, sir."

"I do, lady Chiomara. These," he waved his hand around at the toys, "were my daughter's. She and I used to sit here, playing just like this …” He stopped. This was too painful.

She rose quickly to her feet and said, "I will make some sage tea for us," and disappeared into the kitchen.

By the time she returned, he was sitting cross-legged on the rug, a child on each side gazing at the pictures in the book as he read.

“Then he thought for another long time, and said: ‘And the only reason for being a _bee_ that I know of is making _honey_.’ And then he got up, and said: ‘and the only reason for making _honey_ is so _I_ can eat it.” So he began to climb the tree. And look, there’s the picture of the little bear climbing the tree, with the bees buzzing at the top.”

Soon the youngest child, eyes fixed on the book, had climbed into his lap to see the pictures better. Angus glanced at Chiomara with raised eyebrows, and she had nodded, smiling. Angus was startled to see tears in her eyes. Of course, this might bring back sad memories for her too.

A few moments later the elder boy said, "He can see better than I can. I want to sit there, Oenghus."

"Ah, but he is still little and you are a big boy, Niall. You go around the back and look over my shoulder. That is the proper place for a tall lad like you.” A few moments later the boy was leaning against Angus's back, his arms around Angus's neck, their heads together.

After a while the youngest child began to nod, then fell back with his head against Angus's arm, asleep.

"Aye, time for your bed, little one," he said, and Niall said, "Can't you tell us another story, Oenghus? Please, just one more."

"Next time, Niall, we'll have another story next time, all right?"

He laid the child down on the rug, stood up and said to Niall, "You sit there by the fire, lad, while I go and warm up a bit of milk for your bedtime drink."

He went into the kitchen and Chiomara followed him.

"Thank you for being so kind to my children, sir. They will always remember this evening.” She hesitated a minute, then went on, "Sir, I have no wish to intrude, but how is it that a man such as you has not remarried? Have you taken a vow or…?” The gentle earnestness of her voice took away any sense of invasion of privacy.

"No, madam, no vow, but... " He looked at her. She stood close to him, concern and compassion on her face.

“Madam, my wife left me because of my actions: the fault was mine, not hers. And the man she then turned to and married was cold and heartless. So I doubly caused her misery. That was bad enough. But the greatest shadow over me is that I killed my own daughter.” He turned to her. “I do not say this to evoke your compassion, my lady. I do not seek that. I built the walls around me myself, and must live within them. How can I ask another to join me?”

“You may have built the tower, sir, but it was circumstances, the world around you, that provided the stones and mortar. Perhaps another might lead you from that tower and, in time, lessen the shadow? Sir, I do not wish to cause you further pain, but I would say that the Fiann do not condemn you for any of the matters you have spoken of, nor does lady Elizabeth. Yes, you strayed, but in such circumstances as would mitigate your fault. The gods know, Fiann men stray for far less reason, or no reason at all.” She looked away and bit her lip, then turned to him again. “I know Terran women expect more of their men: I envy them in that. They have more freedom and choice: in that also I envy them. But your wife chose not to forgive you. She chose to leave you: you could not prevent her. And she chose to accept director Charles: in that I do not envy her. But again, you could not prevent her. So there is fault, but it is not as heavy as you say. And your daughter: what choice had you? To leave her to the Baian? No mother could contemplate that. Had she been my daughter and you her father, I would have blessed you for that action.” She suddenly blushed and turned away. Then she turned back and gave a small smile. “I know a little of your life, my lord. I do not wish you to think I was prying, but after I learnt you had done so much for my family, I wished to know more about you, as any woman would. My informant was not lady Elizabeth, sir; I would not have you think that. I would not have dared ask her. It was my sister Eimher and the lady Tana. On their visits to the Terran Hospital they chatted with the Terran girls there, as girls will. As you had saved Eimher from the Telemon, and Tana’s brother knew you, they particularly asked about you. The Terran women were discreet, of course, but as Eimher had good reason for asking and Tana was a friend, they told her. They hold you in high esteem, sir, and are furious about how director Charles has treated you.”

“They had been very supportive. But they don’t know about my conduct on other planets. I have never been the most attentive of husbands.”

“But is that not the nature of your vocation, sir? I have seen at the hospital how hard the Terrans work. The lady Elizabeth - I have never seen such a dedicated woman - or man for that matter.”

“Elizabeth is wonderful, I agree. She serves the people with all her heart.”

“And you do not, sir? Risking your life on the Telemon Plain in a blizzard, freeing those who would be enslaved, braving the Kelb? I find it difficult to believe that such behaviour is new to Fianna.”

“I serve, or served, rather, with a whole heart, but also to further myself, to rise in the Colonial Service.”

“Is that such a bad thing? To excel in one’s chosen field and to have that excellence recognised? Particularly when the excelling is a giving that serves the people? Any woman … any sensible woman, sir, would see that any neglect was the result of the character that drives that giving, that she and her children benefit from it, and accept it. Any sensible woman would look around her and see men neglecting their families for far less worthy reasons. And even if there was excess or error sometimes, we are not, the gods forbid, saints. Did ... did your wife complain of neglect?”

“No. No, she didn’t. It was what happened on Toba that broke the marriage.”

She sighed. “Idealism, the trait that drives you and drove her is a wonderful thing, but sometimes it makes one … a little unworldly. It makes one expect a standard of behaviour which cannot be always upheld in the trials of real life. It makes one see things in black and white, when in fact most things are in shades of grey. You blame yourself, sir, but those who know you well, they say otherwise. You accuse yourself harshly. It is the nature of men who care to do that. If you were truly neglectful and uncaring, you would not feel the guilt so keenly. I have seen little evidence of such characteristics tonight, and lady Elizabeth does not believe you are like that."

"Elizabeth is very kind."

"She is, sir, but she is also a very astute judge of character. I believe she is right."

Angus raised his eyebrows. "You are trusting, lady Chiomara. You can only have met her once, and as for me ..."

"Sir, I am a woman. It doesn't take a woman long to judge another woman's character, especially under the circumstances in which I met her. Neither does it take her long to judge a man's character, given a proper opportunity. I misjudged you before, but now I have seen you as a person. I am sure that you would make a wonderful father. Perhaps when you get back to Earth, you will meet someone. You are wasted here, living alone."

"It is my choice. And I will never go back to Earth. I will never leave Fianna - if I am allowed to stay."

"But Earth is your home."

"Home is where your loved ones are, and where you are loved. I have thrown that away, here on Fianna, but Earth has less, only memories. What is there for me there? Nothing. My child lies here on Fianna. I will stay here if I can."

"But I heard today that you are going back to Earth soon, tomorrow or the next day.” Suddenly her eyes widened, and she raised a hand to her mouth. "Tonight, when we met, you were going somewhere. Was it … were you ... were you fleeing? So they could not find you, and take you back?"

"Well…” He couldn't lie to her. He nodded.

"And I stopped you. You did not go, so you could help my children and me."

Angus shook his head. "Tomorrow will be time enough."

"You did not think that before I came," she said softly. “You considered time to be so short that you were risking the predators you warned me about.”

"It will be time enough.”

She looked troubled. "You have sacrificed so much for Fianna, for, dare I say, for my family, already."

He shook his head. "The only sacrifice I have made was not demanded by Fianna. For the rest, it has been no sacrifice. What I have done for your family has been little enough."

"The life of my sister, twice, and the rescue from slavery of my brother-in-law? They are not little to them or to me. And even tonight, granting me sanctuary, and," she smiled and waved her hand toward the living room, "giving happiness and security to my children. They have known little enough of it these past months. And even before, even their own father never gave them his time, let alone played with my children as you have done."

This was no good. With his need, he would begin interpreting this in the wrong way. He picked up the mug of warm milk and led the way back into the living room. Niall was lying with his head on the couch arm, asleep. Angus gave the woman a rueful smile. "Too late," he said softly. "But spending time with them, giving them happiness was rewarding for me too. I like them. I like children."

"Even Fiann children?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Fiann or Terran, what is the difference? Does a Fiann child have less need of love than a Terran child? Does he have less need of security? Is his happiness less uplifting, his sadness less heartbreaking?”

He stopped. She was crying. Damn his heavy-handedness. "I am sorry, my lady. I did not mean to waken sad memories."

"No," she waved her hand, "it is just … You are … Men are not normally so … Eimher said you were a philosopher. So did lord Redraic.” She knelt down to pick up her eldest son and, resting her head against his, said, " It is late, sir."

"Aye, my lady, it is. Time small heads were laid on pillows.” He led the way up the stairs and into a bedroom where there were two beds and a cot. He laid the youngest child in the cot and said, "Tomorrow we will seek the earl, and you may lay your case before him. You will find fresh bed linen in the chest there, lady."

"And … and where will you sleep, sir?"

"In the stables."

"But … but this is your home, sir."

"Yes, my lady, it is, and so I grant it to you for the night. You will have enough to besmirch your name without spending a night under the same roof as a Terran man. You must bar the door. I will hear if any one comes, but in any event, the hound Bran sleeps in the yard."


	31. Attack of the hyaenodon

Angus slept badly that night. Chiomara, her troubles, her lilting voice, her image, kept him awake, and even after he fell into a fitful sleep, an auburn haired woman flitted through his dreams.

He rose well before dawn and, without going into the house, set off up the hill. He hoped that from a high point he would be able to see the earl's campfire, and take a compass bearing on it. The Telamon was scattered with hillocks, and patches of woodland. It was unlikely that the earl would be camping right on the trail, and it might be difficult to find him. He stood for a long time scanning the plain, first with the naked eye then with the monocular. It was only when he followed the line of the trail by eye, located a landmark, then used the monocular to examine the local area that he spotted the tiny pinpoint of light near a rock outcrop about seven miles out.

A spark of light to the south caught his eye as he strode back down the path. He stopped and stared. Yes, lights on the trail from Findias. He looked through the monocular. A cluster of torches, and horsemen, moving slowly up the trail. Trackers, he thought. Turig and his men. He turned and ran down the track. With luck, they could still get away. An old game path passed nearby, the one he had used to reach the plain to seek Eimher that day. It was steep, for it went over the hill rather than around it, but cut a long loop off the main trail. That would give them perhaps a mile start over Turig. That, he hoped, would be enough.

He was still a little way from the lodge when he saw Laeg running towards him.

"Master, master, she has gone, baintighearna Chiomara has gone, just after you did, master. She would not stay. She made me saddle her horse, and said to tell you not to worry and to go on your journey, and she will find tighearna Ceofrin by herself. She would not wait, lord. I told her of the scavenge-wolves and she said she would be safe on the main trail. I told her she would not be safe anywhere, but still she would go, lord."

Safe on the main trail! The hyaenodons would be ravenous after the starvation of winter. He himself would not go there alone, even armed. And this was the most dangerous time of the day. All the carnivores hunted at dawn and dusk. Didn't she know that? Or was she so desperate? But he had implied that finding the earl would be quite easy. Now what was he going to do? He had no weapons, not even his crossbows; he’d given everything to Redraic. Was he about to lose another woman and her children? Hell, wasn’t one family enough?

“Did she take a pitch torch?”

“She refused, lord, saying it would frighten her horse.”

“She didn’t want Turig to see the light. He’s coming up the main trail from Findias. She must have known he’d be coming.”

Laeg plucked at his sleeve. "Master, I have saddled your horse. Both of them, master, in case you want me to come."

"Good lad, good lad. Well done.” The greathorses had least the speed and power to outrun a pack of hyaenodons in the open, and Laeg had trained hard to become a proficient rider since his encounter with the entelodont. "Get the hunting horn, quickly now. And bring Bran.”

He ran into the forge, buckled on the steel rod in its sheath and grabbed the iron-shod staff. They were not much but better than nothing. As they rode out of the compound, he jerked the lighted beacon torches from their sockets on each side of the gates. His horse pulled away slightly at the sight and smell of the burning pitch, but Angus thrust the torches into the leather saddlebag socket, and dug his heels into the greathorse's flanks.

"Right lad, we'd take the shortcut.” The boy followed him, Bran loping beside the horses.

He scanned the plain from the hillside as they descended, slipping and sliding. It was lightening quickly, but he could see no sign of Chiomara. The trail wound in and out of the trees. At least when he reached the main trail he would be able to see if there were hoof prints in the newly fallen snow.

He had almost reached the valley when he heard a terrified neighing, followed by a scream. He shouted and kicked the horse into a gallop. After fifty yards he saw a flash of colour off the trail, and veered off towards it. Chiomara! It must be her.

"Laeg," he yelled, and gestured down the trail, "ride on, find Redraic and the earl, they’re at Pointed Nose rocks. Go, boy, go! Use the horn, call them with the horn, go!"

Laeg did not hesitate. He kicked his heels into the greathorse's flanks and galloped away.

"Bran, come!" called Angus, but the wolf dog followed his young master.

There, not far down the glade, Chiomara was standing with her back to a tree, swinging a sword, Niall clinging to her. Around her were five hyaenodons, snarling, edging closer. One animal lay to one side, writhing. Of the greathorse there was no sign. Cormac – another hyaenodon had something that it was carrying away. Something screaming.

Using the staff as a lance and yelling, Angus charged and speared the animal as it turned towards him, taking it just behind the shoulder. The staff was wrenched from his hand as the stricken animal spun to bite at it, and its prey dropped from its jaws.

Angus grabbed the pitch torches and leaped from the horse. The hyaenodon lurched towards the screaming boy, but a grey shape darted between them and picked up the child in its jaws. Another predator? Angus struck downward with the torch before he realized it was Bran. The wolf dog carried the child to Chiomara, dropped him at her feet, then stood snapping and snarling at the hyaenodons. The horse had already fled, neighing in terror.

With its dying grasp, the speared hyaenodon lurched at Angus. He thrust the burning torches at it, and as it recoiled, drew the rod and stabbed the animal in the jaws. The animal howled as it collapsed onto the snow. Waving the torches, Angus ran towards Chiomara, yelling. The hyaenodons scattered, snarling, but then, seeing only one man, closed in again. Still, the smell of burning pitch and the shouting had made them nervous.

He thrust one torch and the steel rod at Chiomara, and grabbed the sword.

He swept the other torch through the air towards the nearest animals so that droplets of burning pitch flew off and landed on them. They squealed and as they turned their heads towards the stinging pain, he leaped forward and struck them with the sword, slashing at their necks, left and right. At the same time Bran sprang forward, snapping and snarling, distracting them. The hyaenodons backed away, two of them with blood gushing from gaping wounds, howling.

Chiomara shouted, and Angus turned. Another hyaenodon was running at him. He thrust the torch in its face and stabbed it in the chest. It swung its head, snarling, biting, trying to get at the blade, and knocked the torch from his grasp, into the snow. He scooped it up, but too late - it had gone out.

The fourth animal was almost on him. He swung the sword at it, awkwardly, catching it in the mouth. The jaws closed on the blade and the sword was wrenched from his grasp. He struck at the animal with the dead torch, but the dying creature hung on.

He heard a scream and looked around. The last hyaenodon was running at him. He wrenched at the sword again, but without success. He turned to face the last animal with only the dead baton for defence. The jaws, that was what he had to watch. Grasping the baton at each end, he thrust it between the jaws of the beast as it hit him, growling and snarling. The momentum knocked him over, and as he fell he could feel and smell the hot, foul breath. As he held the head away from him, he felt the powerful jaws crunch on the baton, and knew it was only a matter of moments before the beast spat out the splintered wood and started on him. He heard Bran’s snarl as the wolf dog sank its teeth into the hyaenodon’s foreleg.

Then the beast lurched to one side and gave a howl. Hot blood gushed out of its mouth and sprayed over Angus. The chewing stopped and the beast wrenched its head around, dragging the baton from Angus's grasp. Through a film of blood, Angus could see Chiomara standing next to the animal, screaming, stabbing the rod into the chest of the hyaenodon again and again. It twisted its head towards her and closed its jaws on the rod. Kicking and heaving, Angus pushed himself out from the under the heavy body and scrambled to his feet.

He looked around. The hyaenodon that had been gripping the sword in its teeth had weakened. Angus put a foot onto its neck and wrenched the sword from its mouth. Then, two handed, he swung it up, over and down on the neck of the animal that Chiomara had wounded. Then he ran at the others. One was dead, the other two dragging themselves away, obviously dying, but snarling defiantly as he ran up. He smashed the sword down on the neck of the nearest, then the other, killing them.

Breathing hard, he turned to Chiomara. She stood for a moment, looking wide-eyed at the sprawled hyaenodons. Niall was clinging to her skirts and Cormac was screaming. She dropped to her knees, clutched Cormac to her and buried her face in his hair. The boy appeared unharmed. The hyaenodon, in a hurry to get its prey away from the others, must have taken a mouthful of clothing. The child was more than lucky; at the very least he should have a crushed arm. Bran was still standing next to her, watching the dying hyaenodon, snarling softly, his teeth still bared. “Well done, boy, “said Angus. “Good dog, good dog.” Chiomara looked up, then, still hugging Cormac, flung an arm around Bran. Those long teeth would never worry her again. The wolf dog licked her face and looked up at Angus.

Now, they must get away, but what if they couldn't find the horses? Would Laeg have found the earl? A distress signal would increase their chances of being found. Fortunately Chiomara's torch was still smouldering. He tore some bushes out of the ground, crushed them together, then laid the torch beneath them. A trickle of smoke started upwards, quickly thickening as the twigs smouldered. But now they must move from here. The smell of blood and the crying of the children would attract other predators quickly. He retrieved his rod and staff, thrust Chiomara’s sword into his belt and started to walk out to the trail. Her cry stopped him. "Don't leave us, don't leave us!"

He turned. She was still kneeling, one arm around her children, holding out the other to him. Terror was on her face. He went back and, taking her hand, lifted her to her feet. She was shaking.

"I won't leave you, my lady, but we must get to safety. I go just to find my horse."

She clung to his hand. "Take us with you. Don't leave us here."

"Of course not. Come then.” The children would slow her too much. He stooped down to pick them up, one in each arm, saying softly, "Shall we go back home and play with the blocks again? Shall we go somewhere safe and warm, and have some milk and biscuits? Does that sound nice? Come on, then."

For a moment they clung to their mother, staring at him, but then came to him, putting their arms around his neck. Unbidden, Chiomara grasped his arm and they walked quickly to the trail. Her grip was tight and he could feel her trembling as they walked. Gradually the crying of the children quietened.

They reached the trail and there in the open, a hundred yards away, his horse was pacing. His head was swinging from side to side, ready to gallop away at any sign of a predator. Angus whistled, and the horse looked towards him, but did not approach. In his nervous state, even Bran would frighten him.

"Bran," said Angus, "Laeg." The wolf dog wagged his tail, looking up at Angus. "Laeg, seek. Laeg, seek, seek." Bran bounded off up the trail.

Walking towards the horse, Angus whistled again. This time the horse cantered to them, head held high, eyes staring.

He took the reins, lifted the children onto the horse's back, then turned to the woman. She was still shaking. He put an arm around her shoulders and she turned and threw herself into his arms, burying her face in his chest, heaving great sobbing breaths.

"Lady, it's over. It's over. Chiomara, Chiomara, you are safe now, you and your children. We'll go back to the lodge. You are safe now, Chiomara.”

The children, seeing their mother's distress, began whimpering. She heard and put a hand out to them. Then she lifted her head, looked him full in the face, and said, "And may we stay, my children and I? May we stay with you? You will be a good father to them, I know."

Shock, the poor woman was shocked out of her mind. "Why yes, Chiomara, of course you may stay. But now, let's get on the horse, and away.” He made to release her, but she reached up, took his face in both hands, and kissed him.

Angus stared at her. A kiss between a man and a woman among the Fiann had special significance. Here it would be taken as a sign of betrothal. She couldn't be thinking straight. Then a series of distant yells drove it from his mind.

Chiomara went rigid, staring up the trail. “Turig!”

Hell, he’d forgotten about Turig.


	32. Turig's honour

Galloping towards them, not fifty yards away, was a body of men. In the lead, dressed in the same red leather, the beardog necklace swinging, was the lord of Rutena.

He reined in viciously as he reached them, throwing the horse back on its haunches.

"So, madam," he shouted, "here you are. You insult me by leaving my protection, you insult the earl's hospitality, and I find you here, alone, with a Terran! And look at your clothes, madam! Have you no shame?"

Chiomara drew herself up. She looked totally in control of herself. "I did not place myself under your protection, sir, so my leaving can be no insult. As to the earl's hospitality, as the earl himself was not present, my presence or absence can be no insult. I-"

"You must return forthwith, madam."

"I do not wish to return with you, lord."

"What you wish or do not wish is irrelevant, woman. You have brought dishonour on our house. As your betrothed, I will plead your weakness as a woman to our elders to mitigate your offence, and will stand as your champion. But you will return, and now. The priest awaits us in Findias."

"You are not my betrothed, and I need no defence and no champion. If there is dishonour, it is yours, attempting to force me to marry you against my will and threatening to take my children from me."

"What, madam, no dishonour for a woman promised to another to spend the night under the same roof as a Terran man? If that were not enough, as I rode to this spot I saw, with my own eyes, you standing with this … this sub-human creature's arms around you, and you with your clothes all bloody and awry. I will not say what else I saw, and I will wipe out the insult to our House presently. But you, madam, you will come with me, now," and he swung down from his horse.

Angus stepped forward and said, "The lady Chiomara has said she does not wish to return with you. You will not force her to."

"You! You … you conniving churl, you creeping, slimy Terran. I saw you with your filthy hands on my woman and kissing her, damn you, and you will pay in blood for that.” He drew his sword from its sheath, but Chiomara ran forward and took his sword arm.

"Oh no, lord, no. I … You must not fight this man. I … I will come back with you."

The Fiann stared at her. Then his eyes narrowed. "You are trying to protect him, woman. I shall take you back, yes, but only after I have killed him."

Still she clung to his arm. "Oh no, cousin, it is not him I am trying to protect. Do you think he is called the ironmage for nothing? If you try to strike him, your sword will become bewitched, and who knows where the blow might fall?"

Turig looked at Chiomara, then at his sword, then at Angus. Angus stood with his arms folded, staring back at Turig. He did not know what game Chiomara was playing, but he was happy to go along with it. He was no match for one experienced swordsman, let alone ten.

Turig scowled at him, and said, "I do not believe you, woman. I saw you in his arms."

"Oh, but that was just to stop him from bespelling you as you rode up, cousin. If you want further proof of his powers, send one of your trackers back along our trail. There, where the smoke is rising. You will find seven dead scavenge-wolves. Can any mortal man do that? Do it, lord; you will see I speak truth."

Turig looked at her, then at Angus, then shouted, "Seven? Seven scavenge-wolves dead? Ha, you have betrayed yourself, woman. No Terran coward has ever killed even one scavenge-wolf, let alone seven.” He threw her off so violently that she stumbled.

Turig gripped his sword in both hands, raised it over his head and sprang forward with a yell. Angus let go the reins of the horse and drew Chiomara’s sword. The horse snorted and backed away. The two children fell off, screaming. Chiomara jumped forward to catch them but was on the wrong side.

As Turig brought the sword down with all his strength, Angus swung Chiomara’s sword, two handed, to knock it away. The swords met with a clang, and both snapped at the hilt. Typical of Turig and Ortiagon, Angus thought; bravado and cheap steel. But he was lucky - if it had done that when he was fighting the hyaenodon ...

Immediately Turig backed away, yelling to his men. "Shoot him, shoot him down."

As the men urged their horses forward to encircle Angus, Chiomara called above the screams of the children, "Oh, this is dishonour indeed. One unarmed man on foot and ten mounted archers? I shall shout this abroad¸ cousin, and you will be shamed forever."

"You will be in my holding, woman, and you will not be shouting anywhere. Shoot him, I say!"

Two of the men put arrows to their bow strings, but the others looked at the sergeant. He said, "Nay, lord, we cannot. It'll be our heads if we do this thing."

"What! Do you dare to disobey me? By the seventh pool of hell, Tuac, you're no man of mine. Here, you, give me your bow.” He leant across and wrenched the bow from one of his men.

As he fitted an arrow to it, they heard a faint horn call, and the sergeant shouted, "Lord!" and pointed down the trail. There, coming at a gallop, was a body of men. In front, blowing horn again and again, was Laeg.

Turig bent the bow, but hesitated.

“The earl can see you, Turig,” said Angus, and the man scowled, lowered the bow but kept the arrow nocked to the string. Angus moved to stand in front of Chiomara. She was still kneeling, trying to quiet her children.


	33. Turig on trial

In a few moments the earl and his party reached them. The earl shouted, "Weapons at rest," as he reined in, and Turig’s men lowered their bows and unnocked their arrows. Redraic galloped up to Angus and leaped down even before his horse had stopped, drawing his sword and landing with a thud and a crash of metal, so that the children started crying again. Legs astride, he stood between Chiomara and Turig, glaring at him. Scowling, Turig threw the bow onto the ground. In the brief silence that followed, Angus heard a low snarl. Bran was crouching next to Laeg's horse, hackles up, ears flattened, lips curled up back to reveal his teeth. His eyes were fixed on Turig.

"Lady Chiomara," said the earl, inclining his head, "you are hurt?"

"No, my lord earl," she said, rising, but the earl held up his hand to stop her speaking further, and said, "Ironrod?"

"No, lord, neither of us," said Angus. "The blood is from … something else. Nothing to do with this man.” He was about to go on when Ceofwrin turned to Turig, glaring.

"Turig of Rutena. Do you war on women and children now?"

"Nay, lord, not at all. This Terran has been trying to abduct my betrothed."

"This is not so, lord.” Chiomara took Angus's proffered hand and stood up. Immediately the children began whimpering again, so Angus picked them up, one in each arm, as before. They put their arms around his neck, and quietened. The earl watched with raised eyebrows.

Chiomara dusted off her skirt, took a step forward and curtseyed, then stood before the earl, her hands clasped in front of her. "Lord, if I may explain."

"Please do, my lady. I am confused."

"I thank you, my lord. As the lord earl knows, my husband is dead."

"Indeed I do, lady Chiomara. You made representations to me against the Terran ironmaster on that account.” The earl looked at Angus, expressionless.

"I withdraw those, my lord, totally and absolutely. I and my children owe our very lives to this man."

"What!" shouted Turig, "this lying, creeping worm-"

The earl raised his hand and said, "Peace, lord. You interrupt the lady Chiomara.” He turned to Chiomara. "Lady."

"It is not of the ironmaster that which I wish to speak, lord.” She bowed her head, then looked up at the earl again. "Since my husband's death, lord Turig has importuned me to marry him."

"That is not true, lord," said Turig. "I merely mentioned it during the period of mourning, and subsequently pointed out the advantages of such a match."

Chiomara bowed her head while he spoke, then looked up at the earl and said, "The mentioning and pointing out were incessant in frequency and forceful in nature. Last night, lord, the forcefulness became physical,” she touched her bruised cheek, “and threatening to my children and myself."

"That is not true-" began Turig again, but the earl raised his hand. "I hear your denials, lord Turig. Let lady Chiomara proceed."

She raised her eyes again. "Lord, I know that although Aedua is but a small holding, its location makes it strategically important in your domains. My councillors have told me that having a woman hold the reins of power until her son comes of age will lead to unrest, to continuing trials of strength, as adventurers try to win Aedua by force, plot or marriage. They have, in short, my lord, told me that unless I wish to spend my days rejecting suitors and intriguing, and my nights watching from my windows for danger, I should seek a husband, a strong, wise, and competent man. I am prepared to do this. For the sake of the future of Aedua and for my own sake, I seek a husband who will be kind to my children and bring up my sons as their..." she hesitated, then said, "as their grandfather would have wished. My lord earl, I do not believe lord Turig is that man."

"I certainly am that man," said Turig. Chiomara lowered her eyes again while Turig spoke. "I am strong and competent. I know the holding, I know the woods, the fields, the farms. I am sure my cousin," here he glared at Chiomara, "would have wanted me to bring up his children. I love them dearly, and they me."

Chiomara raised her eyes and said to the earl. "Perhaps lord Turig would demonstrate this mutually held affection.” She turned to Turig. "If my children love you dearly, they will be happy for you to take them in your arms.” She gestured with her hand towards the children. "Please demonstrate to earl Ceofwrin how fond your cousin's children are of you."

Turig scowled, then put a smile onto his face and walked forward, holding out his hands to the boys. But they shrank away, putting their arms around Angus's neck and holding on tightly. The youngest hid his face in Angus's beard, whimpering. Turig put a hand on Niall’s arm and the child jerked free.

Angus frowned and stepped back. "Away, man, away."

The earl, turning to Chiomara, said, “Lady, with your leave I would pursue this. May I speak to your child?”

“Please do, lord. My eldest is Niall. My youngest is named Cormac, after my father.”

“Niall,” said the earl, “is your uncle Turig kind to you?”

The child glanced at him, then at Turig, and dropped his gaze, shaking his head.

“He is frightened, lord,” said Chiomara. “Nially, you remember the story Oenghus was telling you last night, about the king?” The boy nodded. “This is our king. Like Oenghus’s king, he wants to help us. No one will hurt you while he is here. He wants to know about uncle Turig, whether he is kind to you and Cormac. Tell him, Nially.”

The child shook his head again.

“Would you rather whisper it into the king’s ear, Nially? Then … no one else will hear.”

The earl swung down off his horse, saying, “That’s a good idea.” He stepped towards Angus and turned the side of his head towards the child.

Niall leant forward and whispered into his ear. “He broke my wooden horse. He kicked it and stamped on it. He’s nasty and horrible, I hate him. He hits mama and makes her cry. He makes Cormy cry. He is always cross, stamping and shouting, worse than papa. When he comes we hide away. We hate him.”

“I see,” said the earl, and turned hard eyes on Turig.

"Lord, if he says I am not kind to him, the child is confused,” said Turig, spreading his hands. “This scoundrel has tried to abduct them. I came to rescue them from him, but all this shouting and violence has terrified them. They don't know where they are and what they are saying."

"Strange, is it not, lord," said Chiomara, "that they are happy in the arms of their abductor and unwilling to go to their rescuer? The rescuer who they have known and loved for so long?"

"Witchcraft! The Terrans are witches, and he has bewitched them."

"Indeed, lord, he has used craft," said Chiomara, smiling. "The ironmaster has enchanted my children with the craft of a loving father. He has been gentle and kind to them. He has listened to them and talked softly to them. He has played with them and told them children’s tales. He has earned their love and their trust by rescuing them from the desperate predicaments into which their desperate mother, fleeing from tyranny and violence, had thrust them. Them and herself."

"Tyranny and violence, woman? Do you dare-"

The earl raised his hand. "Let her speak."

"My lord, we came to Findias to seek your judgment on the matter of the proposed marriage. I believed - and still believe - that you would not force a woman to marry a man against her will. However, when we arrived we found, at first, that you were in seclusion, then later, had departed on the earl's Challenge. Lord Turig said he was not prepared to wait for your return, that he was sure you would find in his favour, and we would thus be married and return home forthwith. If I refused, he would take my children from me. As I was alone, I was powerless to resist. So I took the only course open to me, and fled."

"Yes, fled to the bed of a Terran hammerman! I would not marry her now!"

Redraic half drew his sword, but Angus shook his head. Let him run. His own nature would damage his cause more surely than anyone else could.

The men behind the earl muttered, and the earl raised his hand. "For the moment, I will pass over your slur on the character of lady Chiomara," he said, his eyes narrowed. "Your words imply, my lord, that her statement of events is true. So you tried to coerce a defenceless woman into marrying you in my absence? Is this the action of a Fiann nobleman?"

"But your lordship would have found in my favour, I am sure of it."

"You display arrogance. Arrogance, presumption and dishonour. We will deal with those, and other charges, in due course. But to your allegation. Madam, to where did you flee?"

"I fled to the dwelling of Ironmaster Oenghus."

"Two days ago, madam, I would have said that that was the last place on all Fianna to which you would have fled."

"Two days ago, my lord earl, I would have said that you were right. But since then I learnt that I was gravely mistaken in the ironmaster's character."

The earl raised his hand before Turig could expostulate, and Chiomara continued, "Lord earl, I know few in Findias, and fewer still capable and willing to protect me and mine. And none of those few were in the city. Yet I had to flee, as I have said. I learned yesterday of all that Ironmaster Oenghus had done for my family and how his every action was motivated by honour and courage and kindness. After all the ironmaster had done for me and mine, I was reluctant to impose on him further, though I had no doubt that he would respond in an honourable way."

"An honourable way?” sneered Turig. "What does a woman know of the honour of men?"

"More, it would seem, than the men of my family. Even the ironmaster's response when my husband insulted him last autumn-"

"I should have slaughtered the bastard there and then."

"If you had, sir, I and my children would be dead now.” She turned to the earl. "With no sanctuary, I would have ridden into the Telamon last night to find you, lord.” She gave a wan smile. "I know now it is death to try to cross this valley alone. But I would have dared it anyway, having no choice.” She turned back to the earl. "Lord, I sought the ironmaster’s protection because I knew he would give it."

"And what did you give him in return?" sneered Turig. Angus looked at him and shook his head. The man was determined to hang himself.

The earl raised a hand, but Chiomara went on quickly. "The ironmaster put his home at my disposal and slept in the stables."

"Do you expect us to believe –"

The earl raised his hand again and said, "Turig of Rutena. You have presumed against the earl's justice. You have attempted to coerce a Fiann noblewoman against her will by threat; worse, by violence. You now insult her. Again. There are other charges which you must face, but on this basis alone I have decided you must face a Challenge before you can be considered fit to be regarded as a Fiann nobleman. Hold your tongue before you lose your rank and holding - permanently."

Turig stared wide-eyed at the earl and opened his mouth. Before he could say a word, however, Redraic snapped, "Be quiet, man!"

"Madam, proceed," said the earl.

"My lord, the old Fiann maid slept in the house with the children and me, and the ironmaster slept in the stables, as I have said. However, I knew he would not let me go on alone in the morning, and I was unwilling to cast more of my troubles onto him. So at dawn I waited until he had gone up the hill to meditate, as I had heard was his wont, then had his stableboy saddle my horse and came away, hoping to find your lordship before Turig could find me. I knew also that the ironmaster had other pressing concerns that he would sacrifice, and indeed has sacrificed, to ensure the safety of my children and me. I thought we would be safe from the scavenge-wolves on a greathorse. It proved to be an almost fatal mistake. They attacked as soon as we reached the plain."

The earl stared at her and the men behind him muttered. Redraic turned to look at Angus, his eyebrows raised. Angus nodded, and Redraic pursed his lips.

"You were attacked by scavenge wolves? That is what all the blood is?" said the earl.

"Yes, lord," said Chiomara. "Even before we reached the plain, the greathorse smelt them. We fell when he bolted, and a scavenge wolf seized my youngest. It was carrying him off when the ironmaster arrived. He speared that wolf, but then dismounted to pick up my son. His horse pulled free of the reins and bolted also, but Angus - I mean the ironmaster - then ran through the ring of wolves, and turned and attacked them with my sword. He killed them all, lord, all. Then he brought my children and me here, and was about to take us to safety when lord Turig rode up and belligerently accosted us."

The earl looked at her then looked at Angus. "More heroic deeds, Ironrod? You outshine the Fiann. Perhaps it is time they were honoured."


	34. The Ballad of Chiomara

Chiomara raised her head again and looked full at the earl. "Oenghus Ironmaster is indeed deserving of honour from the Fiann, my lord. He is honourable and wise, competent and strong. Strong in mind as well as body.” She dropped her eyes and went on, "I would further add, my lord, that the ironmaster has offered to extend his protection over my children - and me."

Angus stared at her. She had implied betrothal before Turig had arrived, and he had assumed it was just shock, fear, relief. But now she was safe and seemed to have recovered, and it was plain that the earl would not force her to marry Turig. So she was free of him. Yet here she was implying betrothal again.

The earl raised his eyebrows. "I see.” He paused and looked from Chiomara to Angus and back again. "This has not been done before, my lady. A Terran and a Fiann noblewoman, one, moreover, with whom the governance of a holding passes. But let me be sure I understand this, for the lady Chiomara speaks with feminine delicacy. Are you, lady Chiomara, betrothed to Oenghus Ironmaster?"

She did not raise her eyes. "That is for the ironmaster to say."

The earl looked at Angus. "Well, Ironrod?"

Angus looked back at him. Was he? Or first, should he be? He had never seriously considered remarriage. He had admired Chiomara's character and courage as well as her beauty, but had struck down the idea of any sort of relationship as the fantasy of a lonely man. But here she was offering it – for the second time. She would make a good wife – by Fiann or Terran standards. And what sort of husband would he make by Fiann standards? Had she had considered this? Undoubtedly: she’d just been through a bad marriage and was desperate to avoid another, with Turig. Love – well, he could feel the stirrings and so, it seemed, could she. And respect and admiration, apparently mutual, were fertile grounds for love.

"My lord earl," he began, but Turig interrupted.

"Lord," he burst out, "this is scandalous. It is degrading even for this woman to be considering it. Is a Terran, a weak, skulking, cowardly Terran to become lord of Aedua? Is a Terran to become father to the lord of Aedua's children and take his wife to bed? These Terrans are no better than serving men, lord. They have no lineage. They are no more than churls. This man hammers iron for a living. He shoes horses. How can he rule Aedua? I would rather set up my own farrier in the holding. He at least is Fiann, and knows the holding and its people. For a woman of blood from a Fiann noble house to be even contemplating marriage to a Terran is an insult, and-"

"Enough!" said the earl. "You have no right of question, still less reply, Turig, yet I will answer those points as others may need reminding of them. Are you not aware, or do you choose to forget that the Terran lineage is the same as the lineage of the Fiann? Are you not aware, or do you choose to forget that every Terran on Fianna is a master of intellectual arts as well as a craftmaster? Oenghus the ironmaster is also a master of the art of civil engineering and a student of philosophy. In ironwork he is goba, working at the arcane craft of ironsmith because he chooses to support himself as a Fiann would do. He does not trade his higher knowledge because the Fiann have not chosen, as yet, to buy it."

"But what of this story of the scavenge wolves, lord? You'll not believe such a fantasy! If he is her paramour, they could have made the whole thing up. Dismounting, then killing who knows how many scavenge wolves? By a Terran, men known only for their sneaking cowardice? Whoever heard of such a thing? Where is the evidence for such a feat?"

Before the earl could answer, Angus said, "Go and see for yourself, there, where the carrion birds circle, before you insult the lady Chiomara further."

"I will, and so expose you for a cheat and a liar.” Turig swung up onto his horse and galloped away. Bran gave a low snarl, and sprang off after him, his head low to the trail.

When Turig’s men made to follow him, the earl stopped them. "Let him find what he has to find, and prove what he has to prove, alone."

The earl reined his horse around to watch as Turig swerved off the trail at a gallop. A flurry of birds rose above the trees. Then they heard a terrified neighing, and a few moments later the horse came galloping out of the glade, bare backed.

The earl shouted, "Redraic, Democ, circle guard to protect the lady Chiomara, the others, come." He heeled his greathorse into a gallop and rode down the trail, fitting an arrow to his bow as he went.

Redraic clapped Angus on the shoulder. "Man, I'll be calling you lord Oenghus before this day’s sun has set.” Then he leapt onto his horse and began to ride clockwise in a circle around them about twenty-five paces away. The other man did the same, in the opposite direction.

Turning to Chiomara, Angus said, "My lady, clearly the earl will not make you marry Turig. Do you really wish to marry me?"

Again she lowered her eyes and said, "It is for yourself to say, lord."

The cultural gap again. It would be indelicately forward for a woman to answer such a question directly. "Lady Chiomara, will you marry me?"

She raised her eyes to his. They were sparkling. "I will, Angus Ironmaster.” A moment later both she and the children were in his arms. She put her cheek against his and whispered, "We shall be a happy family."

From the woodland came shouting, the howling of hyaenodons and the shrill neighing of the horses. Chiomara shivered and laid her head on his chest. He tightened his hug as he watched the trail.

Soon the earl was coming back, his barons around him, with Laeg behind and Bran loping alongside. Angus released Chiomara and gave her the youngest child, and they stood waiting as the earl rode up.

"Your cousin, my lady, I regret to tell you, has fallen to the scavenge wolves."

Chiomara clapped her free hand to her mouth. "Oh! I did not want that! I did not want to marry him, but I did not wish him dead."

The earl shrugged. "He chose to take the risk. It appears, Ironrod, that he saw your body count, and determined to try to better it. No doubt also, my condemnation of his actions was on his mind and he thought also to re-establish himself by undertaking a heroic challenge. My huntsmaster has interpreted what happened. As he rode in, the pack turned from devouring the bodies of their brothers, and attacked him. He killed one, but then, somehow, was dragged from his horse. Unusual for wild animals to do such a thing.” He looked at Bran, then went on, "Once down, he was unable to get to his feet, and the pack … ravaged him. We drove them off, but he bled to death within moments. My huntsmen are bringing the body."

Chiomara looked at the ground. "I am sorry. Fortunately he has no family, no one to leave fatherless. I was his nearest kin."

The earl nodded. "Good. He had a sort of wild courage, but I need more than impetuousness in my barons. My lords hold their lands at the clan’s discretion. I had already received reports of Turig's holding and he has been called to account before for his inadequacies. However, events have overtaken us, and he now stands before a higher court. His holding is thus without a holder. We must consider the succession, in due course.” He turned to Angus. "So, Ironrod, seven was your tally, then. Few can boast that."

Around him the younger barons nodded their heads.

"No, lord, only five. Lady Chiomara killed one before I arrived, and saved my life in killing another. The hound Bran helped also."

"Indeed.” The earl looked at Chiomara with raised eyebrows, then turned back to Angus. "Only five, you say. Well, not many more can boast five than can boast seven. And none, I am sure, can boast four of the five killed on foot, and in one engagement. Tell us how did you do it, Ironrod."

Angus described the defence.

"So," said the earl, "staff, sword and pitch torch. A unique combination. Did you plan it as such?"

"Not at all, lord. I had no time to plan anything. But everyone knows animals fear fire."

The earl looked at him. "Yes, everyone knows, but use it in defence, around a camp at night. You used it in attack. And you, my lady Chiomara. A few women hunt, but I have never heard of a woman killing a scavenge wolf alone, let alone on foot, with a sword, and then spearing another when her man was down. It was very brave."

"It was desperation, lord, not courage."

The earl shrugged. "Many women would have just screamed."

"Oh, she did, lord,” said Angus, grinning, “but she swung the sword and drove the spear as well."

"You have that, Welbourne?” said the earl to a young man dressed in green.

"Aye, lord, I have it. I have it well.” His eyes were fixed on Chiomara, and they were shining.

"Welbourne is a bard," said the earl. "Give him a day, lady, and he will have woven a song out of your deeds. Already the words cascade through his mind, and he can hardly wait to get his hands on quill and parchment. Go to the Jolly Ploughboy tomorrow night and you'll hear _The Ballad of Chiomara_ , the tale of a beautiful woman fighting for her children's lives. How she stood alone in the icy waste astride her little ones, her faithful hound beside her, the blizzard gusting around her, her hair wild and flaming. How she screamed defiance at the ravening beasts and swung her sword in desperate defence of her young. Twenty verses, accompanied on the lyre."

Chiomara's gaze was downwards, her cheeks red. "Lord, please," she said softly.

"And you, Ironrod, may get verse twenty one, tacked on at the end, just put in to round off the tale. Being male, and not beautiful, outweighs your kill of five scavenge wolves."

"But lord, that is not fair," said Chiomara. "I did what I did because I had to. There was no heroism. The ironmaster did not have to do as he did, but he chose to. He is the hero."

"You both are, lady, but fairness is irrelevant to the bard. He seeks drama and the unusual, and this you have provided him with. He will add poetry, and imagination in plenty, and weave his tapestry of song. You will never find that you know no one in Findias again, madam - or rather you will find that everyone knows you. All doors will be open to you, and you will never have to go knocking at a stranger's door again. Rather you will find strangers … suitors knocking at your door."

Chiomara glanced at Angus, looked down and said, "I do not want suitors knocking at my door, my lord earl."

"We come to it again. But ... everything in due order.”


	35. The earl's man

The earl turned to face Angus fully. "Ironrod, you spoke yesterday of your love for this world and your desire to remain here. Are these still your feelings?"

What was this? "Even more so, lord," he said.

"Good. On Fianna, Ironrod, there are no independent men as on Earth. All are tied to family, kin, clan. So you must become Fiann and follow Fiann customs. You must become of the Brigantes. Are you willing to swear loyalty to the clan through me, and to spend the rest of your days on Fianna?"

Was he! "I am, lord."

The earl looked around at his barons. "My lords, you have heard of what Ironrod has done. You know of the Battle of Fuill Rock, of Ironrod’s escape and flight, over Uabhal Mor and down through the Beinn nam Bodach. You know of his venture into the Telamon to rescue a lady of the Fiann, of his visit to the tents of the Kelb to rescue a Fiann nobleman. You now have seen the evidence of his feat with the scavenge wolves. Has he proved himself worthy of acceptance into the clan of the Brigantes?"

The nobles looked at each other, then the eldest said, "There can be no doubt of that, lord."

The earl turned to Angus. "Kneel and swear fealty."

Angus knelt, and the earl, placing his hand on his head, said, "Do you, Angus the Terran, known among the Fiann as Oenghus Ironmaster, swear allegiance to me, and through me to the Brigantes, that you will serve me to the best of your abilities, to your life's end and with your life's blood?”

"I do, my lord earl."

The earl took his hand and raised him to his feet. "Then I accept you as a man of the Brigantes and my liege man, and will consider the well-being of you and yours in all that I do."

Then looking around at his nobles, he said, "Oenghus Ironmaster is now of our clan and one of my subjects. His actions before today have characterised him as a man of strength, courage and fortitude, and motivated by noble sentiments. His actions today have shown that again. He has rescued a noblewoman and her children from savage and certain death.” Looking at Angus he said, “Kneel again, Ironrod.”

Wondering, Angus did so.

“In recognition of the deeds, character and abilities of Oenghus Ironmaster, I create him Oenghus of Rutena, first Terran lord of Fianna," and the earl touched him on both shoulders with his sword.

He looked round at his barons. All were surprised, but most were nodding in agreement. Redraic, grinning, punched a fist in the air and shouted, "Yes!"

"Further, I mark my recognition of his honour and courage thus,” said the earl. He put his hands to his neck, removed a thick gold torc and placed it around Angus's neck. Astonishment was evident on the faces of the barons. Chiomara's eyes were shining as she looked at Angus.

"For the courage of lady Chiomara, I mark my recognition thus.” He removed a bracelet and clasped it around Chiomara's wrist, saying in an undertone, "That'll be another three verses.” Chiomara lowered her gaze, and, smiling, shook her head.

The earl laughed, straightened and said, "Now, retainers of Rutena. Approach."

Turig's men-at-arms, with sergeant Tuac leading them, walked forward and stood, heads bowed, before the earl.

"Retainers of Rutena, if there is a man among you who does not wish to serve a Terran lord, let him say so now. If you swear fealty and then renege, you will be banished as you would if you had broken your oath to a Fiann lord.”

"Aye," said Redraic, " and if the ironmaster is harmed, I will personally hunt you down."

The earl raised his hand. "They are Findians and clansmen. They will honour their word. So now, kneel and swear."

The sergeant turned to face Angus, then knelt before him, his men doing the same behind him. "Lord Oenghus, I ask you to accept my fealty. I swear that I will serve you and yours to the best of my abilities, to my life's end and with my life's blood."

Angus looked at the earl. He gestured towards the men. Angus walked to each man in turn, put his hand on the man's head, and said, "I accept your fealty and you as my liege man, and in return will consider the well-being of you and yours in all that I do."

"Which is more than your previous master ever did," said Redraic.

"Yes, lord," said the sergeant. "We will serve a good master well, be he Fiann or Terran. Lord Oenghus has already served us well."

"As I have heard," said the earl. "Sergeant, detail two of your men to ride to Rutena to tell the holding that they have a new lord.” He turned to his barons. "I wish you to know, my lords, that I had already decided to suspend Turig's holding of Rutena because of his neglect of the estate. As holders, my lords, we have responsibilities and duties as well as privileges and rights. A well-run holding benefits Findias and the clan as well as the holder and his liegemen. An ill-run holding leads to discontent and demoralization among the liegemen, and is a disharmony in the clan, damaging clan loyalty as well as peace and prosperity. I will not tolerate ill-run holdings.

"Further, my lords, should the account of Turig's recent activities in Findias, the selling of his kinsman to the Kelb as related by my nephew, have proved accurate on all counts, he would have lost his holding and his baronetcy, and been reduced to the status of a common man. Further, had he succeeded in his plan with lady Chiomara, I would have annulled the marriage, stripped him of all rights as a clansman, and banished him."

"Lord?” said one of the lords, wide-eyed.

"Yes. Made him clanless, led him chained to the borders of my domain, turned him loose with food, clothing, and a knife, with a price on his head should he return. A wolfshead and an outlaw. I will not tolerate any man who believes he is above clan law and Findian justice.

"However, the fates have taken care of the matter and Turig no longer concerns us. Let us turn to happier topics. My lady Chiomara and lord Oenghus, I see you standing next to each other, already sharing, apparently, the joys and duties of parenthood. So let us formalise this, if that is what you wish. Do you, Oenghus of Rutena, take this woman, Chiomara of Aedua, to be your wedded wife?"

Angus took Chiomara’s hand and said, "With your permission, my lord earl, I do."

"Do you, Chiomara of Aedua, take this man, Oenghus of Rutena, to be your wedded husband?"

"I do, my lord earl."

The earl turned to face his barons. "Does any man have anything to say against this union?"

Most of the men shook their heads, but then a voice spoke out.

"I do," said Redraic, grinning. "I wish she had called on me instead of Angus."

"Envy, nephew," said the earl, "does not fulfil the requirements for a valid objection.” The men around laughed. "I doubt also that you would have passed the lady Chiomara's character test. You can see she has high standards. So even if you had been available, she would have ridden past your door. Probably at the gallop.” Redraic clutched his chest and pretended to stagger back. The other men roared, and one of them said, "She'd have been wise to do that."

"And in any event, nephew, I understood that your affections were engaged elsewhere."

"Indeed, lord, they are. I spoke partly in jest, partly in tribute to the lady's courage and beauty."

"Well done then.” He turned to Angus and Chiomara. “I declare you man and wife. May you both live long and happily together. Nephew, having caused the lady further blushes, you may make amends by providing her with what she needs for the offering ceremony."

Redraic grinned and, taking a flask of wine and a horn mug from his saddlebags, gave them to Chiomara with a bow.

She thanked him, poured wine into the mug and with both hands offered it to Angus. "My lord, this is a token of our marriage, that we should cherish and provide for each other."

He’d have to wing this. "I thank you, my lady. I will indeed cherish you and my new children, and do my best to provide for you for as long as we both shall live.” Redraic gave a cheer, and the other nobles joined in.

"Well said, lord Oenghus," said the earl. "The horn mug should be a silver goblet, but it will have to suffice."

"It will suffice very well, lord," said Angus. "I am much more a horn mug than a silver goblet sort of man."

The earl laughed. "We are all, if it comes to that. Your director Charles, he is a silver goblet sort of person - or rather, etched glass. Too, ah, … sophisticated for this world. Now that you are one of us, my lord Oenghus, I shall appoint you-"

Bran, looking down the trail towards Treveri, gave a bark, and everyone turned to look. Coming up the trail was a two-wheeled cart with Charles at the reins. Behind came a troop of Fiann men-at-arms.


	36. Lies laid bare

Sitting next to Charles in the cart was a man in the standard Terran space jumpsuit, but with the quadruple ring of a senior official of the Colonial Service on his left sleeve. The starship shuttle was down, awaiting delivery of the troublemaker for deportation.

"Speak of the devil," muttered Redraic. "What can he want?"

“Something vital, if he has ventured out into the wilds of our savage world,” said the earl.

"My head," said Angus.

Chiomara clutched his arm and looked at him.

He put his hand on hers. "Figuratively, my lady. Don't worry."

Charles reined in the horse with a jerk, and sprang to his feet in the cart. "Your pardon, lord earl, for this intrusion, but I have business with this miscreant member of my staff. Terran business, lord, if you will pardon us.”

Without waiting for the earl's response, he turned to Angus and said, "I told you to stay at the Treveri lodge, to have nothing to do with the Fiann, and I find you here with the earl! You see, Counsellor?” He turned to the man sitting next to him. "Just as I told you. Blatant disregard of all my instructions, breaking every rule in the handbook. He involves himself with the Findians at every opportunity, interferes with their festivals, blackens our image.”

He turned to Angus again. "What are you doing here, covered in blood and mud, wearing that ridiculous neckring? Have you no shame? Take that thing off, and get back to Treveri immediately. The ship is here for twelve hours only, and I want you on the shuttle when it leaves tonight."

"I am not going on the shuttle," said Angus. "And watch what you say: you’re insulting the earl. This torc is a gift from him.” The counsellor looked surprised, and stared at Angus then at the earl, but Charles rushed on.

"You are going on the shuttle! You are part of the Terran Project and you are under my jurisdiction and I say you are going back to Earth. Tonight!"

"I am no longer a member of the Project. You fired me two days ago. Constructive dismissal. So I am a free agent and I choose to remain on Fianna."

"Never! You are going back to Earth. You have done incalculable damage to the Project. You are leaving tonight!"

"I am not, Charles."

"You savage. After all that you’ve done, I expected this of you. So you’re going to get what you deserve.” He reached into a pocket and pulled out a silver rod. An immobiliser, the possession of which on the planet, let alone showing it openly in the presence of Fianns, was grounds for instant dismissal from the colonial service.

Angus shook his head slowly. "Well done, Charles. You’ve just broken the most fundamental rule in the handbook.”

"Put it away, man, put it away!” The counsellor was staring at Charles. “You cannot use that here. Are you out of your mind?" He reached out and took it from Charles’s hand, thrusting it deep into his pocket.

"But Counsellor-"

"You, sir.” It was the earl speaking, looking at the counsellor. "You are of senior rank in the Terran service, higher than director Charles?"

The counsellor bowed. "I am a Counsellor of the Cabinet, my lord earl. I advise the government on matters relating to the Colonial Service."

"Then hear this, my lord Counsellor. This man," he gestured to Angus, " is Oenghus Ironmaster, known throughout my realm and beyond as Ironrod because of his feats of courage and fortitude. For the services he has done me and Findias I have created him baron. He is the first Terran lord of Fianna, holder of the estate of Rutena, warder of the estate of Aedua, and member of the Council of Findias. He is also responsible for a Fiann wife and her children. I would consider the forcible removal of this man from Fianna, as your director Charles so clearly intends, to be a hostile act. I would respond to such an act by expelling all Terrans from Findias and terminating all relations with Earth."

The counsellor stared at the earl, looked at Angus, and then back to the earl. Then he bowed his head, and said, "I understand, my lord earl. I regret beyond measure that matters have become such that you feel such a statement is necessary. The over-riding purpose of the Terran Project on Fianna is to establish cordial relations with you, our cousins, to the benefit of both Fianns and Terrans. In this matter, your wishes are paramount."

"Gracious words, my lord Counsellor, and by them I will observe that this Terran, Oenghus Ironrod, together with a few others such as lady Elizabeth and lady Mary of the Terran hospital, have done more to benefit Fianns and Fianna than all the others put together. How you run your Colonial Service, Counsellor, is a matter for you and your council, but if mutually beneficial and cordial relations are your aims, you have been abysmally served on Fianna since the death of the lady Agnes."

"But my lord earl," said Charles, raising both hands, but the earl cut him off. "Director Charles, I have heard your words and I have seen your actions since you took the leadership. Nothing will be achieved by further talk between us.”

“My lord earl,” said the counsellor, “if I may be so bold as to ask, for I am confused … this man,” he gestured to Angus, “I have been given to understand that you hold him responsible for the deaths of your son and nephew at Fuill Rock in an attack by a fanatical religious sect, that you wish to try him in a Fiann Court of law.”

The earl’s face darkened. “This is what director Charles has told you?”

“There may have been a misunderstanding-” began Charles, but the earl held up an imperious hand.

“No misunderstandings. I have made my views plain to you more than once. Clearly you have misrepresented them to your superiors.

“It is a minor matter, my lord earl, which I am sure we can sort out.”

“An insult to my honour is not a minor matter to me.”

Charles jerked back, his eyes wide. “My lord earl, I did not intend-”

“Much has happened during your administration, director, which you did not intend. Far more which you did intend has not happened. I have no confidence in either your administration or your ‘sorting out.’ This has gone far enough.”

“But my lord, you have never been concerned with how the Terran Project has been administered.”

“You mistake me, director. I have been concerned, greatly, with the maladministration I have seen, but forbore to interfere in Terran affairs. However if Fiann attitudes have been and are being misrepresented to your masters, I must break that rule and set out how we see matters.

“Perhaps we can discuss this in Findias,” began Charles, but the earl waved a hand.

“I have nothing further to discuss with you, director. From this day forth, you are below my notice. Counsellor, let me correct what you have been told. On the events at Fuill Rock, I hold no one responsible but myself. I offered to escort lady Agnes and lady Heather to Gorias, to meet the Count. In doing so I undertook to protect them. I was unable to do so and they paid the price. How can any blame lie with any Terran for my fault? To suggest that I do is to insult my honour.

“As to Angus Ironmaster; at Fuill Rock he offered his life to save my kinsmen. He fought beside them. My nephew named him sword-brother and gave him the warrior praise-name Ironrod. To imply that I would desecrate the memory of him and my other kinsmen by doing any other than honouring the man they honoured is an insult to me and the House of Lugh.

“What happened at Fuill Rock was that the Baian druids wished to sacrifice Ironrod as a witch, so did not kill him in battle. They left him bound but that night he freed himself and fled across the mountains. This was a feat of strength and endurance, of courage and fortitude of which I did not believe any Terran to be capable. I was wrong. He reached Findias and told us of the killings. We rode out against the Baian immediately, found and slew most, but captured and interrogated some. They confirmed what Angus Ironmaster had told us. So did my own trackers, who followed his tracks over the mountains. The Baian chief druid himself told us of the actions and words that passed. He told us of the courage and honour that all, but especially Ironrod, had shown.

“Ironrod has since carried out other feats of courage and daring. This very morning he has rescued the lady Chiomara and her children from a pack of scavenge wolves, which you call the hyaenadon. The mud and blood on his clothing, which director Charles finds so shameful is, to me, a badge of valour. So, counsellor, far from regarding Ironrod as a blackguard, we honour him. So much so, Counsellor, that in recognition of these services and qualities, I have ennobled him.

“As you have been misinformed about that, Counsellor, I must take it that you have been misinformed about Fiann attitudes to the progressive failure of the Terran project here.”


End file.
